The Sparks In My Head

The colour of blood is red...

not the bright one, oozing with life,

but a rustic, dirty tone...

Once bright, through which

the breath once flowed...

Neither warm nor flowing,

but a viscous stale, and red

for once what carried life around,

is now infected, cold and dead.

What happened to the memories though,

I guess the sparks last longer than the beats,

what was once a living loving heart,

is now reduced to a piece of meat, with a lust to reanimate

Rotting in my own grave,

putrid is the smell of earth,

the only pure thing left 

is this undying fatal love 

An arrow through the chest,
 shot through my heart,
the wounds were mortal enough,
for my mortal self ...

and yet the cogs keep turning,
as the engine roars a death bellow,
the cog-works refuse to stop,
and just keep on turning...

The last sparks of thought,

washing through my neural network,

flashing frantically to find a voice,

to live on even after this death.

-Soumitra