Footsteps echo in my head, A hypocrite stands at the altar, teaching his flock of sheep. Not one of them will lead. A matyr lays prostrate above, trails of incense curling around and blanketing scars, wounds and thorns.
A heartbeat pounds in my head, it takes me a trip from my own world to realise that its my own, then I return to the memories. They say that the good times make you smile. I think its an oxymoron when you're crying smiles.
My heart feels like ripping through my chest and screaming with the anguish that's caught up in my throat. Pearls drip down my cheeks, they taste bitter on my lips.
Three hundred and sixty four new awaking dawns but this one scares me the most. A nightmare wakes me from my sleep. Its the phone ringing and a soft voice telling me he's not breathing.
I'm in my own sanctuary but this is where the they kept the casket, I can smell the aftershave that I woke up to when he was getting ready for work, the sunlight that slips through the stain glas