Mind

A sickly sweet cry in the dark.

The tearing of skin from bark.

The darkness kisses me,

And blinds the eyes I truly see.

Time doesn't fly, it's wings are broken.

Just another fake in an array of tokens.

A carnival without the lights.

A night without a fright.

A blade without the blood. A life without the depression flood.

Blue.

I see you too.

Rib cages of the roll cage of the heart.

The pound of the bleeding mind.

A sacrifice amongst the dead.

A burial amongst the life.

Purgatory in mind.

Heaven in blind eyes.

What does it take?

What should I make?

Sunrises kiss my tears.

Nightfall breaks my bones.

Skin that's too tight.

Bones too big, ripping through my flesh.

Blood in your eyes. Death within a sigh.

Ugly.

Pretty.

Screwed up.

All in my mind.

Brainwash.

Media.

Bonfires made of locked souls in infinite passion.

Makes my hands cold.

Frozen. Broken.

No heat in these eyes.

Death.

Bark torn from skin.

Skin torn from memories.

Death.

Stealing from the giving.

Giving from the stealing.

Killing all the music.

Burning bridges for a few minutes of warmth.

Sigh.

Trembling roots lead as my veins. A gentle breeze in a hurricane.

A space void of love. A time full of hate.

Spiraling in the downwards,

Dying in the upwards.

Endless cycles of love and remorse.

A rotting corpse on the patio.

A newfound ratio, and a brand new fungus in my eyes.

It breaks through.

Pain splatters the mirror.

Blood from the other side.

Blank canvas.

Draw on me.

A scarf that makes you cold.

Frozen.

A light that makes you dark.

Bonfire.

A story without words, a book without pages.

A lie without a hook. A sigh with a moldy outlook.

A loud yell in a quiet parlor.

A soft cry at a beauty concert.

Plastic eyes and darkened irises.

Standard breasts and crumpled hips.

Another ballad without a tempo,

A guitar without its strings.

I am I and you are you.

I wish that I could say it isn't true.

An analogy for the word myself.

Another lie, on a shelf.

A lisp without a tooth, a pencil without its creator.

Screwed up.

Written in tears and blood galore.

You think you're part of the number fifty glamour.

A tiny plea as he was struck.

A loud scream gone amok.

Wings pressed under glass.

My eyes bleed of the color of my soul, black and red and blue.

Clipped feet and strained arms.

Quiet sighs.

Dying flies.

My teeth are crooked, and so is my mind.

You won't find.

My soul hidden.

A cold amongst the warmth.

A smile amongst the frowns.

A frown amongst the smiles.

The words "coward" carved to your swollen arm.

No.

But yes.

Don't.

But I will.

Let me help.

No.

A darkened memory and a new time.

A coward's words are mute and dead.

Just like me.

Flickering lights within my mind's eye.

Words, words, words.

I can't keep them down.

Water lacking. Water needed. Afraid of water.

Cotton Candy swirls, play with my mind's carnival.

A life among the dead,

A mosquito in a grip.

Eyes to souls.

I keep my doors locked.

But you always get in.

I'm not excited.

Should I be?

No. It's okay.

Crossed fingers, I'm stuck.

I hate sorrow.

But love your luck.


Numbing hands, razor blade bracelets.

A lobotomy for my heart to fill with your love.

It hurts but I can flick the switch.

Give up the fun.

Keep your gun.

A sickly sweet silence fills the dark.