Lonely Poet

Sitting alone, all alone, with these bleeding wounds

They keep oozing blood and I love it when they burn

I scratch them alive and they make me cry without a sound

More scary and ugly the bruises look, but I don't give a darn.

Everyday I carry them with me, in my heart in my mind

They always remind me, I don't have rights to smile

And if I do, I rather rub salt in them rip them and grind

Fear of forgetting my pain, even if it is for a while.

Every night I stand naked in the cold gentle wind

And so slowly they make me numb, and still it hurts

Pain makes me forget how everything in my life been ruined

Oh, how I love to dig them, my deepest gashes and cuts.

Love is a debt on my life and I will pay for it till death

With my silent scream, tortured mind and heart filled hate
In this new world of mine, there is no place for trust and faith
And in it I am waiting, for nothing, I, the lonely poet.