Walls of Brimstone

These are my silent screams
written upon blood soaked walls
dug in with raw fingertips
robbed of nails years ago
these are my tears
soaked upon a face
worn with sorrow
twisted in agony
leaving a salty silt upon it
this is where I throw my agony
this is how the knots I make
stay away from my neck
this is the drawer where my razors hide
so as to not slit this throat
my painting of dejection
this is where the sorrows hide
and build an army
to ultimately destroy me
once and for all
on the so called birth of a messiah
or to pull me under eventually
into the currents of societies depraved
and insolent urchins of anguish
this is my box
this is where I live
I am no better or worse
Hiding in my pain
As if these walls were made of brimstone and fire
And hell was all about me