Two melted cubes and a sugar spot
                                leather cusp to arm...

From clear enclosure I **** it down
                                tasty, not my charm.

At this point I am so disconnected from myself

that if one day I ever decided to take my own life

it would be premeditated ******.

I watch him slowly deteriorate.
The first man I ever loved
Is being brought down,
Like a torrid helicopter
Caught in a hailstorm.
How much he must struggle
Against the current,
Only to be swept into unsightly circumstances,
Into a misfortunate gravity
He brings upon himself.
Homelessness, his vice,
And all I can do to help him
Is not worry so much
About all his suffering and whirlwind adventures
That make so little sense.
The delusions, the psychosis,
The wretched, wonderful mania,
It’s all so much for one person to contain,
And all I can do is watch
Him deteriorate
Before my eyes.
The first man I ever loved,
Fearful of none,
How terrible must be the parts of him
I cannot see
For his actions to be
So extreme.

In scrawling minor compositions,
Perhaps I now confirm
The scaling, swelling suppositions:
My residential term.
Fixated to the melting ***,
My skin begins to squirm.

A duty to complete the plot.
Write, rinse, repeat.
Permit the fertile heart to rot.
Of all, my greatest feat
Was rearranging the pieces of mind,
Though the chest had ceased to beat.

Were I to leave them behind
(The colorful personas with whom
I’ve lived in kinship and kind:
The fruits of my creative womb),
They’d surely tread ahead in advance,
Before the sky could reach full bloom.

And when locked within a fictitious dance,
Each step to completion livens.
Cue a heartwarming, back-leading romance;
Take the hand of the contrivance.
Clad in black and instinct raw,
Grin in hand, mask the connivance.

Let barely slip the partial law
Of clinging to reality,
And delay, in turn, the denouement:
The fairness of causality.
I press my hand to a paper cheek
And grant it immortality.

At the height of passion, it seems to peak
The formation of each smiling crack.
Gift me the insanity to speak
To the fantasized cul-de-sac.
And yet, I again become human
When it does not answer back.

I'm a bird, I'm a plane,
oh, have you ever gone insane?

lost your way,
took a drive

down a tunnel
that is corrupt and magic life

night and fright;
is it not a delight?

just to see
all the colors as they bleed

and they rain and they drip
and slowly you sip

from the cup that lies near,
your lifeline; shedding tears

I'm a bird, I'm a plane,
have you ever been numbed by pain?

as the distance he walked
as he scoffed, tore your heart
with no way left to part

from yourself, from your walls
and you've completely been numbed,
you're completely inane

broken wall, broken fall,
have you ever lost it all?

birds,
planes,
insanity,
broken dreams,
corrupting lies,
crushed,
lust,
and your life, it turns to dust

as you drift and you dream,
and your soul begins to scream,
bleeding lies,
ignorance
and unforgiving highs

I'm a bird, I'm a plane,
and I've lost my ******* mind

wind the toy,
the cymbals crash,
and you've never felt so nimble.

breathe your dreams,
inhale the lies,
watch them glitter in disguise,
sparkle in the night
as you're taking your last flight

as that bird, as that plane,
you've surely gone insane.

Twisted at some point
Life never gets better your way
It has its own directions
Customize it, if you may
Pricky steps do guide
Where once fallen deep
Wide-eyed watching path
But still wanting to sleep
Lucid dreams make believe
That reality is fake
Daydreaming turns tiresome
It's good to be awake
Thinking the other way
That maybe you're in debt with death
Shatter the false vision
Or chaos could stir up wrath
Look around and stay sane
Coz insanity is on rise
People hooked on their phones
Life now, has no price...


©sim

These tears on my ****** skin,
Tears from your ****** sins,
Tears from the words that won’t leave my mind.
Tears from what lies behind.

Deep cuts from within,
Deep cuts on my skin,
Deep cuts down my wrist.
Life is so brisk,
I like the risk.

They say, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones,'
But they're the ones who always had homes.
'Words will never hurt me,'
So why won’t those words stop replaying in my head and let me be?

Deep cuts on my thighs,
Deep cuts from your lies,
Cuts from what I've realized:
People are evil in my eyes.

Your words tore my heart, and I my skin.
It’s the only thing that alleviates the pain.
I felt it cut into my soul.
I reflect what you have said—your sins on my skin.

Is not equivalent to a broken leg.
Who came up with that analogy?
Someone who hasn't experienced either
Seems the only probability.

It's far more akin to a giant spasm,
Contorting your leg against your will,
And stopping it seems highly unatural,
And each doctor prescribes different pills.

Nobody has fluctuating broken legs,
Or fractured limbs that cause them to count
The precise number of steps they take,
And despair if it's the wrong amount,

Or healing bones that turn reality
Into hallucinatory nightmares,
Or make you stay awake all week,
And start berating chairs.

But the worst of that analogy
(It drives me quite insane!),
Is that broken legs are quick to heal,
And cause a lot less pain.