Desolate Dreams
are the incarnate of my ever present
fears and hopes in one bundle of self destruction,
this perpetual hell you see is but a fraction
of the truth. The scythe that cuts deep is just a
reflection of your words on my skin,
and as I spill the bright red blood that fades to black
you realize that this darkness is
the purity you seek, and as you desperately
try to lap up this oozing black pureness,
it is torn away from you by your own insecurities,
just as you tore life from me.
Are we really so ignorant to think that
we will be safe from oblivion, that we are
the “special one.”
you are truly a fool.
These thoughts are the poison in your bloodstream that
slowly kills you no matter how much you resist
and deny.
Your ruthless actions are like white-hot knives that
pierce my bubbling, searing, blistering skin
but when you see the damage, you only thrust them
further.