With each shallowing pulse,
my heart bleeds on.
With each beat,
my heart hollows.
With each weakening push
of blood through my veins,
my heart bleeds on,
and my limbs turn cold and deathlike.
With each beating of my drum silencing,
you can no longer press your ear into me.
My heart is hollowing! Once the beating
chambers of a Gothic romance…
Perhaps while I still have time,
lay beside another with a bleeding heart.
And while clasping weak, trembling hands,
we fall into the netherworld together…









Death and passion rolled up in one. The repetition of the heart beating makes it more powerful.
Sounds like something Type O Negative could put music too. If Peter Steele was still with us. Nicely done, Daniel. Great write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian