I'm not exaggerating, or using a metaphor.
Silent snakes creep to greet me
As if I'd ever let them defeat me.
Venom sprays, with a sickening hiss twisting the air.
There's a wild grin; it's almost like I no longer care
For my own safety or sanity.
A laugh, or a cry? Which was it?
Which sound is which?
Is anything even real anymore?
What if my bed is the floor
In a padded cell, where no one can hear the screaming.
Where, as a punishment for biting the orderlies, they begin to vent steaming hot air,
Hoping that the non-harmful gas puts me to sleep.
And it will, with time, but just from sheer exhaustion.
I bang on the door, they're screaming 'Stop him!',
Or maybe this is all real.
Maybe I've grown a soul, that taught me how to feel
At a late age; While I was on-stage.
It's a show-stopper, to put it sorta lightly.
The crowd is my demons, all eager to fight me.
They want my skin, no, my muscles and bones,
And if I don't stop performing their mouths begin to foam.
Maybe I'm over-thinking, after all, how I live is stressful.
Not mentioning that name, it's a test full of razor wire
Bombs, blood, and missing fire.
A blaze gone absent, is one to be feared
And if when that name is brought up, it's almost like she's here.
The name slashes my gums till they're numb.
I use my pen as an enchanted knife,
Pray this won't end my life,
And use it to carve the name out of my cursed tongue.