My Original Poem

Counting Sins

The void expands beneath my wasted skin,

No essence, room only for sin.

Sat in a cage far away,

To rot the years, the centuries, away.

A dull ache the torture has become,

But easier than to the years succumb,

The facts of years drifting apart in unity,

What once was — now clouded by uncertainty.

Paralysed, a mindless game of insanity,

What's and why's from the unrelying reality

Nothing to obtain from life at all,

I mean to strive and yet do fall.

So this is where my mind will return.

Where living is the unbroken chain that burns,

that is dying. Where I sit among my sins,

Whilst the void expands beneath my wasted skin. 

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My Original Poem