Premature Hell

Premature Hell

 

Hearing the cries of every guitar,

The solemn altos of the troubled voices

Echoing into my mind,

Reassuring me that someone has felt

The same. Somewhere.

 

If I only could

make a deal with God

I'd get him to swap our places.

 

Burning the tips of my fingers,

Rushing down the road

To work, and wishing to

Break away.

 

Turning it up until it hurts -

Drowning out

the noises

Of life.

 

Hearing only screaming

Insulting

words from

Hell.

 

My pains leeching

Into anything pleasurable.

I'm running, always drying

These taps of mine.

 

Inhaling darkness

Until I feel dizzy with sin.

Failing this test,

Wasting outwards

 

So no-one can see

My rotting insides.

They'll infect you;

Save your unblemished

Soul.

 

I'll escape to somewhere.

I'll pray for forgiveness,

For mercy from the fires

Of this premature hell.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i do think in more ways than one...we experience hell on earth...

i really like "leeching into anything pleasurable"

sometimes we feel everything we touch gets tainted...that we just ruin everything and everyone who associates with us...self-depricating write....but possibilities at the end. to escape that...and that something better exists after this life...well, we can hope anyway.

[SamanthaSweeney]

I think you are very right there Jacob.

That is exactly what this is about, an idea of wasting everything without intent or meaning. Being so corrupt that you feel infectious, and only hoping that this isn't all we will ever be.