The patch of plaster at the bed side
I hear the cries you cannot hear
For I am cursed or blessed to be
The architect of my own fate
If things were not so heavy
If the veins were not so deep
The shadow of my doorway is long on the floor
I sleep curled beneath the barred window
My back against the wall. Do not let those shadows touch me.
The screams are unholy
Words inhuman
One night I will fly from here
I will walk through the locked doors
Above me flourescent lights will shatter
I will leave scorched footprints
On the white tile
I will sleep among the unworthy again
And when they find deepest sleep
I will take them from their beds
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:57 PM UTC
The patch of plaster at the bed side
I hear the cries you cannot hear
For I am cursed or blessed to be
The architect of my own fate
If things were not so heavy
If the veins were not so deep
The shadow of my doorway is long on the floor
I sleep curled beneath the barred window
My back against the wall. Do not let those shadows touch me.
The screams are unholy
Words inhuman
One night I will fly from here
I will walk through the locked doors
Above me flourescent lights will shatter
I will leave scorched footprints
On the white tile
I will sleep among the unworthy again
And when they find deepest sleep
I will take them from their beds
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