oenama

The lonely nights, Where I’m surrounded, By nightmares, And so much sorrow. For my nightmare, Are nothing more then hell, For hell is where I dream, A dead world, Where, I stand alone in pain. A barren, And dead war zone, In which everyone is gone, No trace, No remembrance, Of the once fearless warriors, That once battled, Not for there own will, But our own. Good, Evil, On the battle, Neither matter, For all one must fight for, Is the survival of, His life, His being, His soul. Fortunately, This war, This mascara, Did not take place, In the realm we call our own, This conflict, Took place in their rea

Like a black void, In the back of my mind, Scratching and clawing, Trying to find its way out. The dark words, Which forcefully flaw there way out, Resembling an evil army on the match, In which no walls may stop. Is this truly a void? A black an empty hole, Where nothing exists? Or is this something else? One night many years ago, Still seems like a passing day, Where all moments are so vivid, So clear, That I can reach out and touch them. But are these memories mine? How is it I can remember being dead? How is it that I could hear and see everything That happened around me? Outer body experience, Some would say I had,