Similitude

Of blood

And gore.

Of Love

And hate.

Of the sane

And the insane.

The calm

And the quiet.

Of fire

And dried ice.

This is all

But a mere

Of Mass Confusion.

To punish

And to be in comfort

At the same time.

To feel

The Burn

But to drift in it

Is quite twisted.

To feel it all

But to not care

Of it.

Are you

Sicker then me

Or are we

The same?

When feeling death

Then why is it

That life

Is being

Breathed

Back into me?

To slip away

And cling hold

And never

Let go.

But in

Letting go

Is to die

And to never

Let go

Is quite

Unhealthy.

Of beautifully

Burnt flesh

To feel everything

And nothing

At the same time.

After all

This is all

An unquestionable

Power.

And to use it

Is bad

But to wait

For it is

Even better.

Even though

That this

May have

So many differences.

It is all the same

Deep down

At the bottom

Of the human heart.

Similitude.