PHANTASMAGORIA

The power of youth
Radiated from the eyes of young James
Dressed in his finest suit
Looking sharper than the edge of his knife that he stole
He ventured out into the young night to find the many others that could be mistaken as his twin, all unique copies of each other.
Soon enough he was drunk
Drunk to the point of no return
Drunk to the point that he couldn't help but feel
He, the ringleader lead on his army of youths
Running, Running to anywhere
Anywhere is better than being with the coppers
They loved to wind the coppers up without a care
All fun was over when they were caught
But the power of youth never fails to kick in
Cheered on by his friends,  young James is spurred on to wind up the grumpy copper that roughly held his shoulder
The copper looked at the boy with pity in his eyes and asked
"Have you been drinking son?, you don't look old enough to me"
"I'm sorry officer is there a certain age you're s'posed to be?, no one told me"
The coppers eyes become littered with mirth at the response he wished he could keep hearing
Only one thought appeared in the mind of the copper, The power of youth.

I want to play a game with you
A twisted and deranged game
A strange, unknown pastime

I drifted as you once did
that night
When you felt nothing but you felt everything
I sat there in mute understanding.
Now you're not here I guess I should drift?
Who's going to save me?
I drifted, I was so close to the edge.
Your truck barely staying on land,
tipping away every so often.
The tipping increased
My eyes shot open,
suddenly drifting wasn't so good or was it. I was in your place.
Did you stop me that night?
Did you watch me in mute panic and understanding?
Did you achieve your goal of turning me into you?

i have 15,000 slurs that could prove that I never forgot to let your name slip from my lips even when I slipped away from myself

My suit is ripped
deep slashes across my ribs
I'm bleeding in to you
don't patch up the wound

A young boy, the lonely poet they called him
He was a truth no one could see
At night he escaped from his room and roamed the barren alleyways
hand in his leather jacket
stolen bottle of alcohol in his backpack
drugs in his bloodstream
words stuck in his throat
it's a funny thing
the fact that he felt the night air understood him the most and was willing to listen to his broken whispers of speech
he longed for a certain type of romance
he longed for the smudged ink in his notebook where his soul resides to merge together and form a girl that will **** him whilst bringing him back to life