I wrote this poem when I was very depressed. It is about suicide and how in "Dante’s Inferno" the seven level midcircle was where all the people that killed themselves went and were turned into Thorn Bushes. They were eaten by harpies and later restored back to a Thorn Bush only to be fed upon again and again…
Scars, the portraits of battles.
Self inflicting wounds; external memories.
Exile me; kick me out of this world.
Or I will enter the seventh circle myself.
Screams and crys; blood and tears.
Rivers filled; wepon drawn.
I see the thread. I see the sky.
I hear the voice. Now it’s time to…
Time to dig within the ground.
And become the thorn bush.
The bush of thorns.
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