No Miracles For the Madman

His hold on reality is fragile; tenuous and whisper-thin
The hot, fetid air of madness steals his breath away
Delusions are stronger now; dark angels shred his skin
Claws tear from within, leather wings savage him
And beat against the broken windows of his soul

Silently he screams; he can no longer breathe
Desperately he prays; God has nothing to say

Cruel, dark angels laugh with utter disdain
Taunting words echo down corridors of pain

No miracles for the madman
No miracles for the damned

demon

His grasp on the bottle is shaky; he clutches it tight
The sour, stale whiskey burns it’s way into the hollow
Core of nothingness; a man neither dead nor alive
He gulps past the bile; feels the whiskey mercifully
Drown away the memories of who he used to be

Silently he screams; he can no longer breathe
Desperately he prays; God has nothing to say

Cruel, dark angels laugh with utter disdain
Taunting words echo down corridors of pain

No miracles for the madman
No miracles for the damned

damned

His grip on his mind grows weaker; he drifts away
The murmur of melancholy calls him into the void
Of utter despair; his mirror of self finally shatters
Hungry, dark angels fight for shards of his sanity
Eagerly feasting on the corpse of his humanity

Silently he screams; he can no longer breathe
Desperately he prays; God has nothing to say

Cruel, dark angels laugh with utter disdain
Taunting words echo down corridors of pain

No miracles for the madman
No miracles for the damned

statue

© 12/21/2015, JB Heston

 

 

 

 

 

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