Sometimes..

Sometimes you want to sink or swim.
Sometimes you want to hide within
the pain you feel
every day
and wishing in vain
that it would go away.

If it does remain
it's the just the pain
that lies under your skin
and continues to drain
your energy, in vain
and with blood, it does stain.

Like the rust of your sword
an unused cord
of the weeping willows
in the forest
ruled by the Lord,
who comes to haunt
each tortured soul,
who will climb aboard
the ship to home,
the place we call home
is a place called Hell.

Hell is used as our governing Eden,
who is ruled by the tortured and deceased maiden,
and with time she kills,
and sends to the mills,
each reaped soul she tears apart
into pieces unknown to even the purest heart,
until she comes clean
of the committed sins she redeems,
her hands will be covered in blood.

Tortured souls and demons arise
to the place we call home and the rules we so abide.
We sink or swim,
with no help from Him,
and we crawl through fire pits and
ashy fields,
where we meet our maker
and He yields.

'Stop' he orders.
We've been tortured again.
'Leave' he yells.
We've been tortured once more.
'Die' he screams.
We've been attacked with words.
'Return to your Hell' he thunders.
We've been saved.