Just Another Name On A Stone Above A Freshly Dug Grave(Revised) Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

Boiling the skin.
Something is breaking in.
Murder on the mind, murder on the mind.
No it will not be fine, never again.
Livid with thoughts of revenge.
A sickness on a binge.
Hurt turned inside out.
Silent are the shouts.
Whispers with the lights out.
Pathological chronological methods of madness.
Can it be stopped this time.
Or will we again pass it off as just fine.
Emotional suicide.
It brews on the inside.
Beneath what the eyes can truly see.
No true motives.
So comfortably numb.
A slip of the knife and it's done.
It's easy to kill and so hard not to.
Accidentally, intentionally, randomly, pathologically, precisely, decisively, does it even matter?
Not to those so closely acquainted.
Like a next neighbor they live it.
They breath it in every waking moment.
Their is no mistaking it.
It washes over them without pause.
Sometimes it's slow.
Sometimes it's fast.
Sometimes it's agonizing.
Sometimes it's heart wrenching.
Sometimes it's painless.
Sometimes, sometimes, but still it always ends the same.
Just another name on a stone above a freshly dug grave.