Life Behind A Locked Door

Life behind a locked door
without anyone to love
gets cold,
unless my shadow learns to sing
and asks me to dance,
somewhere beside the moonlight
thats found its way in.

Behind the locked door
that fucking
and drugging,
and a thousand never being enough
has earned me again,
I have the full day
and entire nights,
dawn to dusk to dawn again,
to be crushed by the weight
of each wretched misstep.
So when I'm alone in my bunk,
and I unzip my skin,
I see only a broken set of bones
that will never fully heal.

When behind locked doors,
the places where the people with pretty grins
pay mortgages by breaking us down,
We ALL become Devils.
Angels fallen into disarray.
Living in Hell's
birthed from scratch.
Drafting fictitious epilogues
recasting ourselves as unrelenting heroes.
A saint amongst the sinners.
A king,
or a pawn observing until sacrificed.
Wagering smokes on the Dead Mans Hand.
Accepting another mans hocus pocus
as a morbid reality.
Men calling with barren souls,
raising with their poison soddened psyches
on inside straights
with the outside chance
of an underdog,
storybook happily ever after.
Conveniently forgetting
that we already are the monsters
waiting away in the final chapter.
The entire goddamn time.

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