My incoherent rantings upon this white, tainted by my virulent thoughts expelling out. I leap at echoes of what may have been cognitively expelled but never given true form.
"I just lingered my mind in the air like a net catching stray speculations that were never musing,
I never understood why infuriated wording was not given form, why I lingered outside my window like a peeping tom. Waiting for those Drifting inconsolable lost thoughts never given form.
Some were so sullen a tear would edge closer to my yearning of falling but then I'd catch and devour it. Swallowing that sorrow to feel that pain needed to ink better vocabulary then I had penned before.
"I hear things in the night, feverish dreams of inscribing,
I understand my conclusion of what I am spilling in irrational contemplations, that wield meaning of what should lucidly be realized within my words. But my ink is waved upon as to complex in thought.
"I am a man with no water yet I am drowning,
Can I be enthusiastic in my wonderings of captured words, expelled but never used. I hoard them within me, so others may not take what I thought what I took from the breeze. I think I'm cognitive, but others think I'm rabid in inducing.
You found out I called you crazy, but to be fair you were the same man who stabbed himself on purpose and picked at wounds just to see how well the scars held up under your knife.
The same man who woke up with bruises for hands and bourbon for breath.
You always slept with your eyes open, glazed over like a snake ready to strike. You said this was from spending 19 years locked in a cage like a feral animal. I see that didn't teach you anything. Some beings can never be rehabilitated; they should have never released you back into the wild.
You picked roses because they reminded you of your dead mother and once you made me talk to her ashes and afterwards you threw me on your pool table and made a mess of me.
You said it was for your memory, I used it for my art.
You would cut me up for fun and stalk me for pleasure. You say bourbon and *** makes you feel real again. You would always tell me I was too pretty for you and we would laugh along to gory movies until our eyes half closed in drunken lust and all I wanted to do was drink from you.
You would lock your door and turn on the fairy lights and touch me real slow and hard until I became cold from the beating of your heart next to mine.
You always said you were going to leave, I never thought you'd just disappear and still be 5 minutes away from me.
You are a ghost that I wish would haunt me a little more often because I am reduced to ashes now just like your cremated mother.
You turned me rabid and mean.
You never told me how to make this stop. I just keep bleeding from the wounds you left.