It's a fall down the stairs
the deliberate action of miss guided steps
rotates the axis of body and form
That crashes fast the nightmare.
I agonize to the pits decay
the frolicking thoughts
there displayed
against the window frame
the sheared glass
Where drips the red dye of life.
Crimson seeds populate the fragile
delicate balance of pain
To the nightly screams that draw
Fills one sore to the unenlightened refrain.
Ticking its seconds
awaiting some external cure
Bordering upon a fancy
Lusting deaths mask to sweep and bind
The lonely hour
The desperate sigh.
Raging inside
begging between the ******
and some hope for light
encouraged in the sinking
that choking plea
strangling the inconsistencies
I court the dark riders course
hoofs pounding nearer
the hearts remorse
Fades the gasp
Of suicide.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

I am lost,
Only to be complete in my brokenness...
An imagination left to its fragments -
Almost methodically widdled down to dust,
My body left mindless,
My soul in shambles -
I am empty.

An uninhabited cup waiting to be filled,
A blank canvas needing paint -

Who am I to wander this world?
Who am I to love someone?
Who am I to exist?

You and I ,
sitting on the
old oak bench
where we once carved
"I+B= 4evr"
with a framed
heart around it

the day you told me
you loved me so
you promised
you'd never let
go
and how you
promised me forever

but here we
are now
sitting on the oak
bench where we
once carved
"I+B= 4evr"
chatting about how
you promised me
forever
and what went wrong
and why I am no
longer yours
    and how
         you are no
longer
      mine.

I’d like to think there’s nothing wrong with me
but every time I look in the mirror,
a mess is all I see.

Who is this girl with curly black hair
that runs down her shoulders like angry waterfall
suffocating her every night as she sleeps alone
but to be honest, there’s not much difference
when they were your hands around her instead.

Who is this girl with coal-like irises
that thinks she’s already dead, that her soul ran away
just a ghost in a body not knowing exactly what to do
quietly roaming around this deceitful city
but they are honest and they see, the monster in you.

Who is this girl with light, bleeding, soft lips
fumbles nervously around everyone she knew
tripping over her own words, about you
struggling to align her messy mind
because it’s always havoc at the thought of you.

Who is this girl who pulls sleeves over her fingers
a constant lie of “I’m fine” to whenever anyone ask her
they try to make her out, another sad girl with cuts over you
but no, not this girl, she is sad with bruises that can’t be seen
bruises that blend well with her porcelain skin.

I am that girl, one who sees perfection in everyone but herself
no matter what anyone tells her, it won’t be enough
I can never have enough of something good
because everything that comes with it,
requires a high price of sanity to pay.