Untitled

Do you ever wonder what the dark do alone,
when all of the black make-up and clothes have been stripped,
as they lay down to sleep?
Within that perfect breath where my mind lay beside me,
I wondered how to live a life in the rain.
Always a bucket perched on top of these stained ideas,
forever your eyes will hold my death;
as the trees blow secrets to each other; I sit
on my knees in front of the mirror screaming at my reflection blank tears of frustration flowing.

I'm crouched and hopeless bared down with
the things I want to do.
I tried so hard to fake this,
in the moment that I gave my heart away.

Roped in chain holding hands with the ceiling I hang from,
with one thought and one notion,
sprinkling from this turning pendulum.
But it doesn?t matter, no one knows, no one sees, no one cares.
I pour my soul out and no one fucking blinks.
I shattered this mask and I can never go back.
I'll fucking crawl away if I have to.

Strung out and collapsed in this delirium from hell,
hold only the neck,
and every minute sink farther towards
this expiration by piano wire.
It cuts through everything even the pain itself.

The colors are all running off of me as
I twist and turn in internal struggle.
I see myself as a water colored painting bleeding away
what's left of my brightness.
My ink blotted accusations drown me as I swim away,
a black and white figure in a sea of color.
And I'm washed upon the shore of this empty parking lot that has become the lake I've fallen into returning only to my mind.
The color fades from my skin like the evaporation of grass all around,
ashes from another fire.
This world is suffocating, in essence in beauty and in pain!
I'm out of breath!
I'm out of sight!
Caught repeating yesterday!
It has a hold of me!
I'm suffocating!
Can anyone tell I?m dying in suffocation!?

Dizziness inside,
no source of pain revealed a wound without a cause.
Finger printed targets appear on the backs of those I see.
The lights on this stage flicker
and I begin to die,
unanswered by the breeze,
and believing the wind is speaking to me.

I visit the graveyard within my head,
viewing the tombstones of
lost ideas, loves, past identities and thoughts.
It is within this soul that the true darkness lies.
It is this body that hides it so well;
it's time again for me to be at the end of myself.
Can I play you these songs in my head?
They tell stories of magic and
cut contrasting back to bone dried ballrooms.

My world is a description to fallacies,
and the walking dead of things I have lost are my peers.
It's a place where static rules the sky in its unchanging world,
trees limbs, tea leaves and my tears fall upward in tribute.
My heart contracted again with the film of my heart break.
It's funny, in a not so comical way,
how each love feels different,
but every heart break is the same.

I rake my fingernails down this hallway
in attempt to prove myself wrong,
I kick at the wind and scream for it to leave me alone
or else plead for it to take me with it.

It's mesmerizing and hypnotizing
when paint chips fall like snow making my world
even more surreal.
It's the place where knives are hung from the ceiling.

My waking state is useless except
my motor skill because it my subconscious
that lives for me,
and I sit ball and chained to a corner of my mind
crying out for someone to notice
I'm never in control.
I've been possessed
by this other force that whispers to me
death on its breath
in the dark of my barless prison
where I sit
cold and naked as the music dies.
I don't want to watch it or feel it anymore
I want to move through it and become it.