Here he hoped
Only to illustrate
The bone chilling
Silence
With his detached, deflated
Account of life
Fingers and nails
Bloodied from
His public outcry
So fierce
But reform never
Followed
The clamor that rang
In his hears
Was in response
To the chemical covered
Words spoken to him
He is propelled to act
For attention
To curb his sickening
Self inflicted abuse
And his affliction
Leaves sores that
Could put him out
Of life in this world
Fingers eaten by anxiety
One by one
Because the knives no longer
Relieve him
Criss-crossed with cuts
Knuckles swollen
And these days
You can scarcely find
A smile anymore
His eyes
Turn away the most
Powerful men
Like he has
A special disease
His arms
With their maze of cuts
Have a time limit
Before they paint
The path before him
In acid
Each wound represents
A chance for a new
Beginning
Or an end
He just gave in
And forgot himself
Lost himself
Down in the damp, foggy
Recesses of his mind
And lifted the dead
Happiness
And threw it out
He the "Architect of pain"
Built within his mind
The killing room
