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Alone, alone again. Back in my personal hell, well you might be wondering why am I back in my personal limbo? Well here I am, dead again. The white streak still
in my dry, frazzled, hazel hair; but this time I'm not alive. Dust and smoke fills my useless lungs from the train I can't go on passes for the hundredth time. How long have I been here? I don't know, has it been longer than last time. Alone, and fully alone this time - no friend by my side as I mourn what could have been.
Crimson blood drips from the cuts and splinters littering my hands and icy face. The wind howls as my hell stops the train in-front of my shivering form, my ashy shredded trench coat still clings to my boney shoulders, trying to keep the cold of me. It doesn't work. The maroon beanie attempts to hide my ears from the cold; but its more to protect me from going death at the constant screeching sound of the train pulling up on the tracks. The sound of the train taunt me as I sit on the ground next to my broken pride.
How did I this time? Alone? Or did I die with the people of my destroyed nation surrounding my burnt body. TNT. Fire. Thats all I remember, was something on fire again or did I set the TNT off? Is anyone else stuck in their own limbo or did all the other shattered souls make it out alive. Am I the bad guy again? Were the the "good guys" the one who made it out alive? If it was the "good" people I guess no one is safe from hell.
This was easier last time. Last time I wasn't alone. The blood keeps pouring from my calloused hands as I pick at the at splinters and tear off my cuticles. The wood is now piled next to me in a horrendous attempt to put it back together. The only thing that could have saved me from going insane (again) was shattered on the floor. My guitar, in as many pieces as my soul, teared apart and no longer useable. The strings are the only that survived. What they survived I couldn't tell you, someone's blood - most likely my own - stain the old rusted strings. My engraved metal pick still hangs around my neck, but instead of feeling like the weight of a normal pick it feels as heavy as a thousand stones. My breathing comes out in laboured breaths as I rethink my life choices, like what could have lead me gear again.
My lyrics ring distorted through my bloody brain. The only thing that could have saved me from insanity and pain. My music but that choice is gone as I try to put together my fragmented spirt from just humming my music. I can't sing any of the devastating and hopeless lyrics any way not with my vocal chords being shredded to pieces. I screamed for hours before. For hours. Upon hours. Alone.
I laugh the kind of manic laugh you give when your on the verge of breaking down. The damn train stops again. My lungs can't keep are struggling to keep breathing as the damage from my soaking breaks them down. How long will I be here again? Alone. Last time it was thirteen years. But that time someone came to get me and the white streak reminds me of that. Will it be another thirteen year for me a month for the others.
My heart stops, not like it was beating before this, as for the first time the train doors opened. A masked figure with scarlet eyes of the devil star straight through my soul as they step onto the station. Are they human? No not human but something else. Alone? Not anymore I guess.