Blood rushing like wild crazed dogs
to the surface of my skin.
Placing a crimson attitude onto my face,
and a trembling hurricane to my voice.

The oxygen runs thin from my atmosphere,
is this real, or is this outer space?
Canines of the blackest exposure make their way
from my head, down my spine, through my extremities, to my feet.

Crushing eyes from around push me outwards
until I can no longer see what I'm running from.
Screeching, mocking barks echo from within
as prey is made of my insides.

Beneath the supernovas of happiness past
alone I await for the chimes of twelve.
I feel the hounds push against my skin once more,
they have not been fed for a while now.

The time has arrived and yet my sanity still has not;
shadows surround me and make it hard to breathe.
Laughter of hyenas, cries of bloodhounds, howls of wolves,
all disturb what is left of me right to the core.

Colourblind, yet with an eyesight set on the brightest hue of fire,
mongrels of most devilish influence impatiently scratch and claw.
Opening their kennels they climb over each other in a frenzy
down the road of scarlet.

Red sky at night, shepherd's delight? Well then, red sky in the morning
is a sign that the herding dogs from Hell shall give no warning.

In my most foolish, childish desire
lay the futile wish to be consumed
by a love that would set my heart on fire,
and extinguish it all in one

The depths of the twilight brought upon me
pain and blood like no other, but my dear;
the tear stains on my pillow and crimson once run free
are unmatched by the burns you have abandoned on this skin

Do you still remember the night we drowned? I wonder,
You see still the waves come over me, as I drift
in and out of consciousness - I am both awake and in slumber
at the very same time

My love, I am screaming for you, I am here, why?
As you are there? And in my panic my mind escapes me
as I look up to the surface, see your face and try
but my mouth is burdened by saltwater

you're right
i will be okay:
but is that
my standard,
or the world's?

I should speak more,
but I should not touch on certain topics.
For nobody wants to listen
to what I really think.

Everyone is beautiful,
but beauty is narrow and specific.
For nobody wants to see me,
when my face is raw.

When we look for signs of sadness,
why do we look to skin? Tell me why it is so,
that we can not, will not, dare not open our mouths
and ask if our friend is okay?

We wait in patience until we see life
painted hastily onto skin with frustration
and anguish, but why does it have
to get to that point?

I guess what I am trying to say
is that as a society, as the human race,
we need to open our minds rather
than our eyes.

these words, they wriggle about the page

and you wish that for once,

they'd just stay still.

so you can put them back

in the order they belong
and make sense in

but they won't stop moving
they hide behind punctuation
in bullying, driving huddles

words jump out of the book
and into your head
running circles and squares
you want them to stop
we beg them for calm
but they hold you prisoner of a jail
youcannotescapefrom.