I imagine a place Wastelands in a recess of past memories Years spent, many left forsaken and forgotten Prices paid for life, bankruptcy never an option A pleasant face tries to hide despising minds Malevolent falsity masquerades as one who is kind
I am a soldier trapped in a porcelain prison. Foreign to the barracks that mirrors my skin I am within my own adversary. The trenches in the scars on my legs sit as a reminder That I will forever be at war with myself.
Barbed wire conjured by my own mind restricts my wrists From opening the fridge door I have to be in control, That’s what the voices tell me. I can’t be without the mirror It reminds me that my ribs are too wide And that a number controls my life, not me.
And here we all stand on the fragile surface of mundane ideals; a billion tiles of hopes and dreams, glued together by blind belief. A safety net cradling you from what is below; the dark empty numbing pit of a meaningless existence
I met a genius on the train today about 6 years old, he sat beside me and as the train ran down along the coast we came to the ocean and then he looked at me and said, it's not pretty.