The Death of Desire

The arson of my dreams was set by me.
A brilliant blood orange glow.
Down an abandoned wreckage road.
Night and her dark velvet invitations.
Fuel my gasoline Lamentations.
A self inflicted burn, gives desire a final
blistering yearn.
Hope and wishes compose optimism's
lather.
But dreams are now dead blackened cadavers.

A moth ate my clothes
But I didn't really mind
'Cause he said he was a butterfly

Do you know what it’s like
To be caged by your brain
A place supposed to be free
To be who you are
Graced with heaven or hell
To be changed by so little
Torment yourself wholly
To be what is right
It doesn't stop at your mind
To be in rambling circles
        Losing your breath
        To be at the mercy of fear
        Shaking ever so carefully
To be seen merely as cold
Digging into Earth you call skin
To be laced with liquid iron