Slit wrists, stained kisses; the night of young
and dark thoughts to succumb. All at once, was
dreaming so fun, before the nightmare of daily life.
Surpassing the intent of suicide, staring at that
knife in pen. Then again—ink bleeds out onto
the paper's spread. ~the dark thoughts of my head.
Where I'll lie, laiden on a maiden I'd want to kiss,
a girl to call a Miss. And a softer wall to my fist.
Knuckles cracked in two by the bone; the flesh torn
as I'm fighting my demons on my own. ~what's the score?
10-0
Ten of the times I feel like a zero, in the eyes
of imagining myself a comical hero. I'm a villain;
self antagonist in doubting my potential. Eggshell
walking steps from taking a risk. ~a little too careful.
Mediocre—the media oak of it's power to grow
in longevity, endurance. Enduring the worst parts
of me—in a Hell pit swallowing me. The burn marks
of scratching shoulders of the crowd to acknowledge me.
To be called a young Prodigy; ~with great honesty.
But honestly; I'm waiting for things not seasoned
in the time. In the directionless ways of a life with
no signs, or boundary lines I haven't drawn.
Covering a heel to bites of snakes slithering on my lawn.
If I got a loan for a night's success, what would the
world want in return? ~hopefully not my soul.
All my confessions; these deep depressions,
counting out my sins with the fingers of my blessings.
Hoping they aren't lessin, in the world's quick call to
change, is to keep on weaponing. ~wars are all we know.
Even the ones we never fought. We've been taught
how to fight back before the fighting began. Perhaps
we try our best at fighting alone. ~that's the way of
the world.
