Nothing here is pure.
There are no halos here to be found.
Only the smoldering ashes of someone who used to be you or me.
We've all been tainted.
A picture imperfectly painted.
We are not so different you and me.
I'm a lonesome bastard.
My soul has gone fucking cold.
Depression is my master.
It doesn't intend to set me free.
You should hear his laughter echoing inside of me.
The voices in my head all whisper impending doom.
For my happiness, there seems to be no room!
When I gaze upon a full moon.
They say my heart is like a cemetery in full bloom.
Nothing left but the halos in the ashes.
©budmac38
B