Here I am again, channeled down the funnel of emotive broken portraits.
There's dirt between my flesh and skin, infused from the ashes of a cigarette, placed inside through the carvings of the blade.
And it feels so repetitive- so aguishly concerning that I haven't reached the veins yet.
Pierced through the ribs from the chest to the spine, just for the fun of watching me bleed.
Betrayed... fooled and chained to my own aching... ravens colour the skies above me, plungering moon dives with the star chaser.
I could smell her blood from miles, as she died in someone else's arms
And I stood here sitting, waiting, rotting, all-putrid; self-attained to this paradox I'm confined to.
Sometimes I wonder if I will survive this winter... or perhaps I should just give in to madness?
Crying in silence behind this mask of liquid salt, waiting for this nightmare to suffice, my tears are running out.
Only distance could have worn me down like this, so sadly, so pathetically dependant...
In this lost realm of hate and dust, I just wait for reality to get fixed, 'cause selfishness is starting to overcome my desperation.
Well, isn't life a burden? Halved like the endeavor of fire and blood.
In the mausoleum of murdered will, can the tortured psyche withstand the flames?
Betrayed in the void of the night, nostalgic because of the memory of an already forgotten sunshine,
the warmth, the light, the sensation of being alive; now forsaken to me as I am...
...profaning the name of the goddess in revenge for these chains,
...prosaic before the eyes of the queen I praise for, sometimes beautiful, sometimes insane.
I wake up and then it all becomes muttered and pale. Captured in the thoughts of my thoughts...
How could I forget these cuts I carved myself in flesh, the reminders of those times I used to be in love with hate?
When darkness could arouse around my neck so quietly, in the shape of ropes and bullets.
Because this is me, the lonely figure you now see.
Burnt down in isolation, gazing at sanity consumed like simple petrol fuel...
Sorry for the fractured wings and denied kisses
But who will pay me for the lost time?
Is it a fact I am too reluctantly unable to live by my own?
"The tales behind a fake smile, the girl behind a broken heart..."
The words I could not forget. But come to think about it, I never stood a chance...
'Cause I was the ripped off page in her story book of lies all this time.
No matter how loud I cry, the moon will never listen.
I always had a choice, but I cannot be misled by that.
 Bellick · Mon Jul 16, 2007 @ 12:12am · 6 Comments |
