My hands are tired from fighting, and my veins have nothing left to give. I repeat it like some sick messed up mantra; "Don't let the darkness eat you up."
My blood banks vaults are empty, and the debtors have come collecting.
And the depths of my dark feelings have become my forsaken hell.
Fires blaze inside my lungs. I feed them kindling, and quench there thirst with kerosene.
My soul hungers for some glint of freedom. I pick at this lock with bones of the girl I once was. Pieces splinter everywhere, but that doesn't phase me any longer.
Hesitation is death, and my feet can't find the tar on the blacktop.
It used to be a safeplace, warm. Miles from sharp hands and tangled hair.
I bought into that illusion once.
The magician had me in his palm before the dove even left it.
But black top hats cage me now,
and wands leave purple marks darker than fresh plums.
The magician had me in his palm before the dove even left it.
But black top hats cage me now,
and wands leave purple marks darker than fresh plums.
And the way my screams come out silent, is truly magic.
There's more to this story, than whats on the page. So please pay attention, while I set the stage.
I pick at this lock with bones of the girl I once was. I'm stealing this. I hope you don't mind.
ReplyDeleteI pick at this lock with bones of the girl I once was.
ReplyDeleteStealing this line. And pretty much the rest of this post. SO GOOD.
sweet blood bank reference
ReplyDeletei stole stuff from this....
ReplyDeleteAnd the way my screams come out silent, is truly magic.
ReplyDeleteStealing this line. CAUSE ITS SO GOOD!
"my soul lingers for some glint of freedom. I pick at this lock with the bones of the girl I once was. Pieces splinter everywhere, but that doesn't phase me any longer." stolethat whole stanza. --love it.
ReplyDeleteStealing. Keep writing! It's amazing.
ReplyDeleteI'm stealing everything, like, all of it. This is so beautiful and your writing is unreal.
ReplyDelete