you stand in
the grey;
because absolute
black or white
lacks
the beauty of
balance
that you love
so much.
stand in the middle of
the scales in
iustitia's hands;
that's what you
say when
someone asks
who are you with.
but in reality,
flip the coin over,
open the blindfolds,
rid of the façade.
and everyone
will find that you
are indeed the
most hideous.
the puppeteer
and the raisonneur;
everyone was fire
and chaos was the smoke.
but you, you
were the lighter.

I pulled the door open, prayed.
Hoped I wouldn't see your smile
bright and shiny behind the tile.

My breath died a moment, when I
heard my name in your voice,
my feet had to make a choice.

My eyes closed and I walked.
You small talked me,
as you stirred sugar in my coffee.

You asked about my weekend,
how Natalie's hangover faired.
My true feelings were dared.

"You want to know how I'm doing? I am
Livid.
Depressed.
Scared.
Distraught.

"I trusted you, Matt. You promised me! I BELIEVED YOU!

"Good-bye."

My eyes opened and I walked.
You small talked me,
as you stirred sugar in my coffee.

You asked about my weekend,
how Natalie's hangover faired.
My true feelings were spared.

"Thanks for the coffee."

I trusted too much.
Barricaded too late.
It's my fault.

I thought you were the exception,
but who am I to believe
any one would choose me?

I just want to sleep

(find a soft patch of grass
surrounded by nature
the only light coming from stars
and a big bright moon
cocoon myself in the warmest blanket
close my eyes
slow my breathing)

and dream forever.

I finally understand
the meaning
behind those songs.

Lyrics about
wanting
to
die.

The emotion behind
wanting
to
cut.

I am becoming
my inner
monster.

It's always been there,
dwelling deep
inside,

waiting to devour me.

It took control
of my
heart,
my mind, now
my soul.

I hear a whisper
in every cut
across my damaged
skin.

worthless

I see it
invisibly tattooed
in each cut.

In a way,
I've always
known,
chose
not to believe.

I am tired of believing the impossible.

I am worthless.

my connection to words,
the string of abstract thoughts,
has been severed by the scissors of the three sisters.

one word obnoxiously grabs hold,
every day, jamming traffic in my head.
your name is the apocalypse.

I lowered my army of defense,
cleared a path to let you in,
believed your promises to me.

you lied.