Tuesday, 4 October 2011


I never belonged in this world.
Pain, screaming, flesh uncurl.
To say I’m morbid is just wrong,
Perfection is but the world’s song.
And when you’re in it, you’ll sing too.
Counting slowly, one, two.
It starts with the eyes, I think.
Mine are dull, sad, my heart sinks.
At first you feel nothing but diced.
But hey, perfection has a price.
Blood mixes with tears
You will be perfect, allay your fears.
Lips, two, luscious and red,
Lying in a tight dress, on your bed.
Walk past mannequins in shop windows,
Your love has reached an all time low.
Rain that patters on the rooftops
Dresses that outline bodies in shops.
Slit wrists, scars that never heal
Sad, sad, scabs that peel,
A heart, tendons that shatter
Nothing in the world has ever mattered.
I’m a freak, nothing more,
Blood and tears drop to the floor.
Now as I ascend to a higher place,
Where people don’t see the scars that mark my face
Label me as morbid, emo, whatever.
I don’t care for tangible matter.
Sweet blood that lies on my tongue
Adrenaline that hardens the blood to my lung.
Tears that wash my face, that salty dew,
Too many in between, in far too few.

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