This wound cannot be patched
|
as my blood runs gelatinous, sweet and black
|
Only to be tasted by the chafed lips of the inflictor, a mirror
|
The heavy-handed swift punishing judge
|
whose sentence is lifelong and indifferent
|
as puddles of stagnant water
|
You cannot stop the bleeding with patches alone,
|
as saturation will reject all but infliction
|
Reparations all slide off into oblivion
|
The hunter and the hunted have become one
|
I was borne for self-destruction
|
Borne to bleed and freeze
|
Tears used to jimmy dried scabs of blood from these sheets
|
Pills to control, to redirect, to attempt to unlearn
|
Unsatisfied with what this world has had to offer
|
Satisfaction when the heart stiffens and succumbs
|
to the hunter's hands, gelatinous, sweet and black
|
No more pills, no more adjournment
|
The higher the walls around
|
the more I will jerk them down upon me
|
It has become easier to bury the bodies
|
than to bury the memories and impulsive thoughts
|
that serve only to confuse and burden
|
One hand on the shovel, the other around my throat
|
Borne to bleed and freeze
|
I have broken all the warm hands that heal
|
Bones snap and shatter
|
Muscle tissue around the eyes stretch
|
and quiver like a fish skinned alive
|
The only honest satisfaction
|
Cold and weak, I hope none remember
|
I will be happy to forget
|
|
-----------------
|
My Supernatural (Bells Ring Slowly)
|
Circle Of Dead Children |