pain ****** hooked on a different variety of smack
cutting to both see and feel the red
lost in the night sky
pale skin conceals the glowing rage
burning and itching just under the surface
desperate to escape the confinement of life
too emo for society, not sullen enough for Hot Topic
isolation creeps in like the drunk uncle at 3 a.m.
fiddling with turmoil as if it were pretty pink *******
it is in this hate filled space that his face takes shape
bloated and sweating
heaving
intoxicated
the inconsistencies of this monster forcing Sunday church
has become the reason for the late night ritual
silently pulling the large knife from the wooden holder
stealthily sliding into the room
transfixed by the slow rise and fall of a sleeping chest
would this be the night the plunge was taken
cold sweat and goose bumps greet her
the empty apartment looks sinister in the early dawn haze
shaking her head both to clear cobwebs
and to reaffirm to herself
he died long ago
on that cold grey night in November