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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I'm breathing like the sun in black horizons, but internal embers burn in invisible ignorance. Tired from being constantly raped by life, I've become ashamed of veiled emotions, confused between him and her - am I an oxymoron of feminine masculinity? There is no mortality in a macho muse, so my pregnant pen prepares to give birth - to death. Curse of the 'father' brings terror, so I prostrate like a man of error, but ponder why, questioning, like a woman - fighting a sexist mentality. Should I reside in this liar's lair, as I find no purgatory at my morbid soul's church. Beelzebub has possessed its priest. Demons glide upon the turbulence of my 'flight mode' mind, devouring melancholic sanity - yet, perversely, I'm enjoying the ride. I'm suffocating, but do not resuscitate me. Too late to cure this sickness, I have no will to survive. Skin me alive, let ebony eyed ravens devour me. I see them resting upon my tombstone, with haunting shadows smirking behind them. Reality has become an adversary, silently sinister, slowly suckling my energy. If the morning light doesn't steal my soul, my final breaths will write a story in the fog, revealing those things silence kept captive. Should I be spilling the ink to fill in the blanks, of suppressed sympathies, which are a reminder, about how I don't belong to any form of existence, so I offer no resistance. I am no drunkard, but feel delusional, from the expectations of those sober. Am I the conclusion of judgement from fabrications created by fiendish fraudulent friends? I warn you, beware of what lies here, I'll take you into misery with me - It's my gift to the world. I'm colder than this home, abandoned by the abandoned. Heart is a foreigner without a dwelling. Arteries too lethargic to spread love. Too disgusted to inhale, the mirror reflects my nemesis. Am I the creator of my own chaos, or just another coward, hiding, cursed by the neglect of child bearers - who left behind no solution for a conclusion. Their welcome overstayed, black faces, darker than darkness, giggle, hiding in the background, their sharp teeth dripping with blood, as I try to cover freshly ruptured wounds. But I'm content to keep bleeding, hoping to become a forgotten entity. I yearn to bathe in the scent of the deceased, exhale my last sigh in alleys of no return - to smile, whilst fading into nothingness. Black feathers covered in crimson, lie upon a shrine for dead birds. Here rests the master of pretence, who departed with mysterious success. Engrave it on my grave, where I hope to finally find peace.
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