Lost again amongst the broken promises,
Sat upon bloodied stones,
My wrists are bleeding yet again,
Black Blood spilling from my bones,
Skies overhead are heavy with defeat,
I cannot breath the air,
There are so many choices,
But nobody even cares,
Trapped again in the darkness of my own making,
I'm scratching at my ears,
I'm pulling at my skin,
Because it's stained with my tears,
But it doesn't matter anymore,
My original image has frayed,
And my once sunny exterior,
Now swamped with the blackest shade,
I dry my eyes on my torn sleeve,
But my despair still leaks out,
They say its better to have and lose,
Than to always be without,
My crimson addiction mocks me,
I want it yet I don't,
I know that it has to end,
But I convince myself it won't,
Talk is cheap from bitter lips,
Words mean much but prove nothing,
All eyes are shut and turned away,
But in my emptiness I clutch at something,
That thing is my terror,
My eternal agonizing cries,
Bright lights in the blackness,
A single death amongst our lives,
And yet the brilliance of it all,
Is feeling the rippling bliss,
Of knowing that despite what is being said,
My pile grows with another broken promise.
What made you do it?
What was the drive?
To take the perfect masterpiece,
And paint it black inside.
Was it the rush,
A momentary insanity?
The paint is dry now,
A permanent mark.
While you monsters run free;
This piece is on display,
Silently rotting away.
by
UrDReaMsArEmYNiGhtMaREsposted on 09/25/2007