Tristan Robert Lange

Razorblade Symphony

Sounds shall not escape,
They shall not burst out
Of this chamber of echoes,
This shadowy chasm of bone.

So many voices crowding,
With cunning they resound,
Crushing the memories and
Confusing them with reality

“Do it! Do it! Damn it!”
Screams a disembodied voice.
Or was it disembodied?
The voice dwells deep inside.

“Do it! Do it! Fuckin’ do it!”
The voice reverberates on,
Followed by a sobbing cry
And a low maniacal laugh.

Scarlet riverbeds are carved
By another razor blade symphony
“Like virginal sex,” the voice hissed,
“It’s awkward and messy.”

What is wrong with me?
“Do it again…and again…
“It always gets better!”
The voices mock my sanity.

I want to stop…to stop…
I want them all to fucking stop.
I want to be free of this asylum,
Of this entombed, bony abyss.

Haunted for what seems
An eternity of utter madness,
“There is no escape…no escape.”
The demons keep telling me.

Ra
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