The Wicked Come

Here’s a razor blade; it calls my name,
I can hear your voice, and it’s doing the same.
Pain is luring me; into her clutch,
Will I give up my soul like I did my heart?
Promise me you’ll take the hate away,
Promise me that I’ll never see the light of day.

One last wish, will you grant it?
One last promise; keep this secret.
Take it to your grave, as I lay down in mine,
Don’t rush to follow too close behind.
Hell doesn’t need me, they can have you,
Suffer just an inch of what I’ve been through.

I can hear noises, voices as well,
Off the souls that were shunned out of hell.
They’re all mine now, my blessing to keep,
They keep me company even in my sleep.

By  Djae Aroni © 2011

It's perfect. I wish I had found this sooner... Echo V. Hawthorne