Not the person who sees red,
Who rips the seams of me?
The crimson is metaphor,
It is the pain, not malice.
Blind eyes, lost inside your head
An illusion of being so free
An imaginary world that continues to grow.
Fold your hands and bow, you've won?
Prepare to reap the seeds you grow...
The whispers saying I hate you...
When did I declare war?
My hand extended in truce
With kindness, festered a sore.
The whispers not fired from my eyes.
Well you've made it,
Are you proud of the view,
Filled with darkness you omit
Smiles and false truths askew.
Fantasy still warm to your touch
Is the ice melting for you...
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Is That My Reflection?
Walls scratched with red. Metallic ballerinas dance across the pale moonlit stage. Leaving only tears... Familiar voice. A moment filled with all emotions. A moment filled with comfort. A moment filled with dread. Eternities in mere moments of torment no words could transcend beyond the lucidity barrier. I see my own eyes now. Filled with hate. Holding myself down with the heaviest rage. Ribs crack. Throat clasped. Guts twisting. Heart spasm. Eyes burn. Mind unhinged... then everything again hits at once.
Awaken... Gasping. My body shakes with a forceful frightful tremble... Trapped in clothing damp with cold sweat clinging to pale clammy skin. Remembering every detail for the first few terrifying moments. Quick to repression these nightmares... the terror that replays every exhausting moment. I have long since sewn the seams of the story. Words hit tired, deafened ears and it does no longer provide relief. The wound looks healed but it was cut beyond the bone... it is silently marred, crooked and tormenting to everything in the area. A weak limp. Hides the searing pain laid across this chest.
I see you staring at me in such confusion. With those broken... never trusting eyes. Once in while, your beauty make me smile and I think for a moment that I may actually love you... but the image is cracked now, I see every flaw. I see the monster. I can't love that.
I do not have the wings to fly into the sun. So I continue to stare at this reflection.
Never changing to me. No desire for the faith of change.
Someday it will end...
If it were true that ends exist.
Nothing ever really ends does it?
Awaken... Gasping. My body shakes with a forceful frightful tremble... Trapped in clothing damp with cold sweat clinging to pale clammy skin. Remembering every detail for the first few terrifying moments. Quick to repression these nightmares... the terror that replays every exhausting moment. I have long since sewn the seams of the story. Words hit tired, deafened ears and it does no longer provide relief. The wound looks healed but it was cut beyond the bone... it is silently marred, crooked and tormenting to everything in the area. A weak limp. Hides the searing pain laid across this chest.
I see you staring at me in such confusion. With those broken... never trusting eyes. Once in while, your beauty make me smile and I think for a moment that I may actually love you... but the image is cracked now, I see every flaw. I see the monster. I can't love that.
I do not have the wings to fly into the sun. So I continue to stare at this reflection.
Never changing to me. No desire for the faith of change.
Someday it will end...
If it were true that ends exist.
Nothing ever really ends does it?
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