The first pang is small Like the bite of bug Then you can feel the pain crawl Suddenly your dragging The empty feeling lashing In you gut
No more you cry No more tears The begging of why Though the darkness never replied The silence is screaming You pray to just be dreaming
The silence is screaming The comes a whisper cutting in Those voices, you're wearing thin The voices are deeming Their scheming! You can't take what their dealing
Just make it stop Stop the shadow looming above Your ear makes a pop To **** this crud You bet for any drug But it's futile and painful
The doctor doesn't approve Nothing can't be removed You hear their breathing Their whispering You cry for their disappearing But that dream isn't nearing!
Nothing is curing Your only fearing The sadness won't be clearing Then you see the razor A careless, simple razor Maybe just a graze or, A slice
Just one you question And they agree Just one run, now two You can see the desolation But they SCREAM to make it ****** The cuts keep coming through and through
They get quieter and quieter You wonder their silence Then you see the razor slowing The key is glowing A blood drop or two for their compliance Nothing had ever felt tighter
You are no fighter So you grip that razor tighter Till they come back If only the support hugged you back Maybe then this wouldn't be so lonely Maybe you'd be happy Maybe you'd be ok Maybe... You wouldn't be here in the first place
Some come my time to write Do I just run or take flight? I think of all I did wrong Why couldn't we just get along? We fed like vultures to prey Wearing a new mask each day With that same sad smile That anyone can see within a mile Riding high on that good **** To ***** out what I need Because I just wanted to help you But just help you is all you would do For 9 months no not 10 I don't think I could ever do that again
I have this mad dream of getting the Ninth Symphony back onto paper. I want it to scream even louder because I put it in a cage. The cell will be overtly tone-deaf and unmusical in the most obvious of senses but will still roar without complete complacently. After which I will know that I am Man. After which I will know that I am God. After which I will know that I am Me. This is my truest and deepest ambition as a poet.
Well, until tomorrow when her name comes up again: Haha!