TORTURE

Every time I close my ears to eavesdrop,

All I can hear is the throbbings of my heart,

But when I try to concentrate more my mind aches and the grim reaper comes calling.

I can hear it.

And every time i close my eyes,

all I can see is the fog from my cries.

My whole becomes torpor,

But I do really need to proof that I’m still breathing,

…living and ignoring the voices from the underworld,

More so when the grim reaper comes calling.

To do so I need a mindboggle,

Something to be proud of my love or hatred,

Something to cherish,

Something which can’t hear my words,

or feel the pain inside my heart,

Something which can’t see or stop my suicidal attempts,

More so when the grim reaper comes calling.

It should be just something.

Not alive.

Not dead.

Not tangible.

Not nothing.

Hurting, hurling and tumultuous,

Just like the grim reaper, but tortious and tormentous.

More so when the grim reaper comes calling.

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