I could drop a full sheet of LSD and leave this world in a torrid of colors, with horrifying images of devils and angels swimming about my body; casting lots to see which of them will claim my soul.
Or, I can drown in a bottle of sleeping pills and whiskey.  With a subtle note of why this permanent dream is better than another day in the waking world.
... Or...  I could set these broken bones, patch this torn heart, smoke a cigarette, and start walking down this long, dirt, road... Picking up all of the shattered people along the way.

Sharpen my wits against a heart made of stone.
With a chisel and hammer in hand, I create a stone man from the beating, marble, monolith.
My thoughts pantomime a mythos ripping through the blood-brain barrier, causing hemorrhaging in the form of hands held towards the sky.
Barbarism takes the form of intellectualism, and as a consequence adorns sadism.
Waging war within, trying to conquer both the left and right hemispheres of my world.
But I'm simply made of stone; a monument to my own malicious, tyrannical, self.
Someone, please, come and tear down this statue.
Anyone, please, take this chisel. Drub down and crumble this creation.
For the those that can hear, please,  come and set me free.

I don't really exist; she doesn't want to exist.
I watched the ocean move the sand across the ceiling floor.
Stranded on an island made of blankets.
I'm eating hallucinations. I'm feeling color.
She doesn't want to exist because I don't want her to.
My mind can't fathom visuals so intense as a living person.
Adventuring down into a spiral void I was born with. I'm not scared. I'm not uneasy. I'm an Adventurer.
I started this journey with three others but now it's just me and her.
But I don't exist; she doesn't exist; this world doesn't exist.
I'm only here for a moment and then it's back to the **** of my mind. Back to shaking hands with reality.
But I don't exist.
I'm merely an Adventurer.
Never here, never gone.
Only a tracer of light .
Always vanishing but never truly dissipated.
I'm like space and time. Stuck in a black hole.
I don't exist.

Blood on my hands
A knife in your back
I hope you understand
My reason for attack

But you never looked away
You never made a sound
The words you would've said
Now they spill to the ground

Breath hanging in the air
Like cigarette smoke
I said, "those will be your death."
Now I see the irony of that joke.

So the deed was done
No returning to the past
Name etched in my chest
With a shard of glass

December's waxing strong
I remember why I'm cold
Make a fire from my flesh
To try and warm my soul

I realise that your gone
The knife still in your spine
I lay my self down
Maybe I'll sleep just fine

I'll see you in my dreams
Another life to start again
I'll ask you for a chance
For forgiveness for this sin

You can't escape the words spoken over you.

Forked tongues and twisted tones drive the nails which splinter the bones.

They've been telling you what you are for you're entire life.

Pronunciation brings forth desolation. They sound out who you are with articulation.

The A's, the E's,  their eye's, their ohhh's,  and then you're used... These words define you.

You tried to **** me once in the most cliché of ways. Tearing my heart out in the attempts of bleeding me dry.
Like this is the "new" Coup de Graš.
As if you thought of this one on your own.
... How sweet

I will admit, for a moment, you caught me coughing up blood and bits of bitterness. After all, you did try to write me out, and in the least creative way.
I should have seen this coming.
I could have narrated.
... How foolish.

So it must've been no surprise when you came back at me with those thighs, I meant eyes, that I premeditated a demise...
A rhyme...
For you...
... How clever.

I hollowed out my chest leaving nothing but a cadaver. You extended yourself to no end. Burrowing inside what you thought was alive.
Something you loved when I'd do.
Something you could chew on.
... How explicit.

Self-destruction was my final task, an easy one and I do owe that to you. You and me now built as one I came crumbling down on top of you.
Rubble carries heavy weight.
Sticks and stone.
....

Born again from pain and ash I left the pile of blood and debris known as you. I never meant break and bleed you, I only meant bury you alive.
I'm cold and hallow.
I'm ruined in this manner.
I'm a better person, now.
... Thank you.

Inside-outside, upside-down. Constant motion, spinning round.
Conscious split, two sides torn. Personalities are born.
Balanced, stabled, falling down. Spilling over onto the ground.
Thoughts amuck, frayed and tattered. Sanity beaten, bruised, and battered.
Sailing, drowning, waters of my mind. Washed upon its shores I might find.
Forgetting rhythm, losing time.  Blacking out, right here is fine.
I'll end this now, my own terms. I'll perplex them, their thoughts will burn.
Gathering together my person, my flock. I'll lay it's all down on the chopping block.  
Panting, sweating, head in hand. It's okay... Im normal again.