It Used To Be

It used to be so black, my heart stained with its sickly colors truly more dead then living.
It used to be so wet my eyes so filled with ptormented tears, blood replacing water exhausted its resource.
It used to be so dead my emotions buried inside a tomb of hellfire so charred that it became numb.
It used to not exist my soul lost upon that accursed bed inside a hospital of the dammed, and the hunted, who's hunter was death itself.
It used to be so bloody my hands covered in the judged blood who merely changed another's soul.
I used to be nothing but a mask, a ghost, a memory intwined in sorrow, but a bird whos feathers were like my heart, and whos eyes were as burdened as mine found me.
Now you see a human no longer a emotionless doll, who's heart is filled with hope, and eyes that stare at the sunlight. And its all thanks to that bird, my beloved raven whos resurrected my soul, my strength, and my will to live. The bird you see as a messenger of death is now my muse, ironic how blind the living are who jest at wounds, and stare at a eagle who if given the chance would devour there souls. Thank you, thank you, and many many more thank you's to then magnificent bird who's wings can still fly even though it carries sorrow, the raven who will always exist within my heart.