If I speak my mind
Behind a blank mask,
I do not own the thought
I do not speak my mind

I sit at my chair
For hours on end
Staring at the blank paper

The story is at the tips of my fingers
The characters chatter in my mind, ready to take the stage
But to my horror

My words are gone and only the silence remains

As I grow older
There were more big problems
Overshadowing the small ones
And so I stopped tending to those small things

Like brushing teeth
Or going for walks
Or bathing
Or eating
Or sleeping

Huh… I think I might be dying

There once was a child
Young as buds not bloomed
With dreams of all that might be.
His spirit, wild
His hair, ungroomed
And hopes far beyond the sea.

His petals grew
Their untouched white
A canvas yet to flower,
But yet he knew
He’d have to fight
For he was not in power.

The glinting shears
And bloodied hands
The heads that often rolled,
He shed his tears
And fled the lands
For he knew those foretold

The taint of red
Forever stained
The cutting of his leaves
His blossoms shred
Forever pained
If the queen he did not please

Spooky little white lights
Dancing out at sea
Deep beneath the waves and
Underneath the breeze

Little lonely lovers
Sit under moonlight
Waters stretch between them
The other not in sight

Shattered little glass shards
Glinting on the beach
Sands of it has smoothed them
Safe enough to keep

Boats and ships a-rowing
Rocking to and fro
Lost to far horizons
Wherever they may go

From days of flight
To nights of tears
To hazy smoke all year round
The light I once was is now blurring

“Too bright!” They said
“Too much!” They cried
And so I faltered
Flickering
Dimming
Dying
Till the voices stopped

They pointed to my hair
My tongue
My legs
My heart
My hands
My soul
My eyes

Everything that didn’t belong
Everything they wanted gone

What was I to do?
And so I let them hold the knife
Against my chest
Sliding between my ribs
Hurting
Hurting
Hurting
As they cut away the best parts of me