Quick to anger harder to please, something lurks silently beneath.
Rusted skin like some kind of mechanical animal dying in the rain.
Only one thing to show and tell today and that is his pain.
Quiet, a mute perhaps? The final bow takes place the audience claps.
Back at home the rust is carved away with memories of displeasure.
The severity of this mans illness can not be measured.
Like in all the other poems he tattered and wrote.
So ***** nothing helps not even the harshest of soaps.
The rust falls to the floor, quick to cover his ****** scars.
Inhaling to a faint exhale gazing up into the infinite abyss of stars.
Walking back into his house with boarded windows and paper covered mirrors.
It s the only thing that silences and hides his fears.
Backstage again getting ready for his painful mechanic show.
Apply the make up just a couple of rusting wounds to sew.
Drugs to keep him going just for this one last time.
The sickness is set aside a voice in his head says all will be fine.
The entrance caused an uproar. The audience wants to see more.
The machine like puppet stripped of his clothes showing all the rust.
A self mistake of the same self hatred hate threw away all trust.
As he looks up and sees he is only the reflection in the mirror.
The changing inside became so unclear.
He finally realized he has never left his house in years.
Attacking himself in the mirror hoping to **** what he sees.
The screams of agony run, jump and flee.
A suicidal disaster nothing could save him this time.
A true inspiration, the next suicide shall be mine