A misty lake,
The cold air,
And my cold feet,
Gentle eyes defeat all the demons,
That shadow my lids.
They walk through the lake,
I can't see nor reach them,
But I can feel their breath on my skin,
Ripping and tearing.
I can see the other side,
The green trees,
peacefully standing,
Almost tauntingly.
I can feel my knees hit the dock,
The rusty nails digging into my flesh,
As the tide washes over my burdened back,
I slip away into the waves.
A still heart,
Polluted with suicide,
Darkened from all the infected scars,
I'll be ****** if I say anything.
Perhaps it'll help if I close my mouth,
Don't speak my mind,
Otherwise it'll burn my lungs,
They don't like it when I speak.
The misty lake,
Tugs at my rusted knees,
But the pain from the nails,
Hold me there.
