The Last Meal Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

A single souls tragic fall from grace.
Embedded in so many stories as long as the mirror stands.
Reaching beyond the broken wings of sorrow.
You want to fly but you just can't.
On the mend sickly harboring all the visions from the past.
But will they truly last through all the ages?
Beyond the imagination of all infinite possibilities.
For even an unknown number can not suffice.

Oh the pain you feel.
The promise he made.
On his knees he kneels.
What has he done to you.
Forever tied in knots.
So tight, there is just no way to shake them loose.

The golden crown does change to so many shades of grey.
Becoming bitter ashes as the smoke rises and the tears fall.
Reasons become madness inside your head.
For you have to be able to sleep at night.
No matter how horrible the sight.
Oh still envisioning the lifeless charred body you have seen the other day.
Forgetting by the utmost distractions and interactions.
Don't lose yourself are the gut wrenching thoughts.

Oh the pain you feel.
The promise he made.
On his knees he kneels.
What has he done to you.
Forever tied in knots.
So tight, there is just no way to shake them loose.

A dance with the devil.
This is the time of mourning when you are suppose to be sad.
But all you want to be is happy.
Being torn in two different directions.
With a sick sense of affection.
Cold shivering under the thinly laced covers with a wish you were here to keep you company.
Thinking about what is right among empty dormant light.
An overcast among the soul.
Cloudy when the sun should be shining.
Saying your goodbyes, when you should be making your flirtatious advances.
Screaming oh my god how can this be.
Just how can this be.
A numbness that is starting to infect the brain.

Oh the pain you feel.
The promise he made.
On his knees he kneels.
What has he done to you.
Forever tied in knots.
So tight, there is just no way to shake them loose.

Financial bickering has never been left so silent.
Another sign of a freshly dug grave.
It leaves its stain upon everything.
As if it was somewhere among the autumn leaves in this deeply rooted forest.
Death is sitting cackling at his sick morbid grotesque joke.
He claims ownership of everything, yet he truly claims nothing.
The abyss of decay in my wretched heart, in my wretched soul.
It cares not for any sense of emotion.
Just pure devotion in matter fact kind of way.
Everything set upon its proper place.
A natures feast under the caws of the ever hungry crows.

This is the thing you don't want to have to feel.
This is the side of me you never want to see.
Because he is so ugly.
He is a monster that devours with little remorse.
And there will be no recourse.
Once it is done, the heart becomes still as the image upon this painting.
And this is the feast yet again we have gave him.