To mask the truth, a web of thousand lies,
A thousand reasons for tears in your eyes,
A thousand more causes of futile sacrifice,
The painful death of a thousand butterflies.
The sparkling constellation of stars on your lashes,
And before your eyes you miserable life flashes,
A chalice of blood from your scars and gashes,
The bone-chilling frost that burns you to ashes.
The ghastly vision that makes you shiver,
The broken sight in the shattered mirror,
The restful sanctum in the mind of the sinner,
In this gladiator’s pit, death is the final winner.
Deep inside it builds up, the pain and the rage,
To a cataclysmic meltdown locked up in a cage,
Quivering on the brink of the abyss of the stage,
Trying to write with blood on a blank page.