As my withered body burns.
My blood filled stomach churns.
Sanguine tears fall to the ground.
My soul is lost, never to be found.
I feel my limbs grow colder.
For immortality I fear I've sold her.
The blood boils and tears.
Through her hollow eyes she stares.
Into my hollow soul unsound
Now I sit down by the river bed.
Regret flowing through my head.
But to the night, I am wed.
My body blistered burns instead.
To plight of the ever piercing sunlight.
I long for her even though she's gone.
Still watching me from her cold stone grave.
Her voice, faintly whispers like a song.
However she is free, and not a slave.
To this torturous world of the darkened day.
Now my life is nothing but a bloody cry.
Sometimes I wish I could join her and die.
But my soul is lost and left unsound.
If I was to truly die and placed beneath the ground.
Never again would my weary soul come around..
Sweet you should have been a Toreador, this would have to be my favorite poem of yours for obvious reasons.