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WickedHope Jan 2015
hahaha
silly girl
silly girl
what are you doing
this is all a dream
no matter
no matter
there will always be blood
in the street
on your hands
you think behind closed doors
you're invisible
but no
you're not
you're just behind a door
they'll open it and
see you
they will see you  
but it's a dream
because you don't matter
why did you collect it all
pooling around their vacant bodies
you paint the white walls
the same thing
each time
you paint a rose
but the rose never stays
it runs red
with the blood you use
because the greatest lie
is that you're in a dream
**when you are the nightmare
no no no no no no no
WickedHope Dec 2014
Don't tell me to stop apologizing when everything is my fault.

                                        *everything is my fault

                                        everything is my fault

                                        everything is my fault

                                        everything is my fault

                                        everything is my fault
Each time I say it today will be another slice.
Perhaps you can silence my words, but who can stop the blood?
JP Goss May 2014
1
It was a past heart ache, and that alone
Set fire to the stake.
On it, a thief in very subtle attire
Two mouths and dressed in smoke,
It may hide its face, inviting my derision
But in allusion and courageous gaze
I knew it was me up there.
#2
Watching and waiting as he did
Before the crime, Time
Told him what was to come;
Still he stole, in misery, the hollowness, giving affection to an excision
(And then he was a saint)
So to faint in throes of his pining ways, bringing this judge
To bitter dismay
And a biting northern frost.
#3
And now I blame him, the othered me,
Condemning with a dissonant grin,
Satisfied, silent and quick to cry
From killing chunks of flesh born out of puppy-dog kid-stuff
Deciding each time:
Enough is never enough is never enough and whine when it is true.
It’s not a thief but ghouls of absolution:
I am the thief
Exist solely as this motif
And alief
It’s the heart that loves in all its strands
Sufficed to ****** innocent, then wash it of my hands
Each time I ignore that anguish
Ushers me on.

— The End —