Illusion of Dead

Within a fog of darkness, with boiling bloods of red,
In a dim shell of envy, purified dread.
Wearing shoes of black iron and melted lead,
A whisper in the dark, a shadow of being, the illusion of dead.

Behind my cold exterior,
I’m silently crying out for help.
My insides aching for compassion,
As I watch my heart melt.

Invisible tears cloud my soul,
Too stubborn for my own good.
Inside I refuse to break down,
When in my heart I know I should.

I can’t let the pain take over,
Despite the awful things you said.
The weakness in my heart must remain hidden,
I won’t give in to the illusion of dead.