These broken toys with a childs soul
Hidden in the painted garden
Red and white, central war.
Disguised as a game of chess.
I guess, that the future can be changed
With a hatter that is madder and slick
That a simple trick could bring about
A guillotine event worth talking about
I thought it would be better if I died.
A hopeful wish really, but one I still believed in. I wanted to go away. For everything to end.
Only, I entered an agreement for a new feeling. One which brings me pain.
I figured it would be better if I was deceased.
My rotting body used to study various diseases. For science of course. While my mother grieved and my father went on living. I figured, that with time, memories of me would fade.
Only, I entered a realm of false hope. When memories fade only to become the chains that choke me with yesterday’s desires.
I just wanted to go away.
A tick tock heart made with clay and discarded parts. Sat on the window to dry. The painter and the sculptor, who where known to hate each other, gave it meaning before it begin beating and put it on display. But it would not sit, where it was meant upon the window still. Instead it would clatter and thump and jump as though to reach the rotted sun.
So the painter and the sculpture sat about to make another. This time a heart that would sit still. But they failed in times that changed because neither heart could feel.
It leeches and bleeds
As I scratch with blunted nails found on top pillow.
They curve into my cheek to my head where nails can’t reach.
The wounded symphony of rust and blood
And red and lead
Tapping on the bones as I try to go to bed
It is testing me, a dream I can not see
As I roll with a grinded grin
And try to sleep again
“I am surprised you are still here.”
“Why?”
“Because all good dreams die young.”
“…and?”
“Wells it’s been ten years now now…and yet here you are no matter how hard I tried to get you to go away. I wonder what that means.”
“Probably that you will never be rid of me?”
“Yea…I guess so…”
“Do you believe in lesser beings?”
“Of course not, why would you ask?”
“Because I once thought you said you loved me.”
“Pfft, must have been a dream!”
I dream of wicked things.
Spliced together with feathers of woe
I am told that this is not normal
But I gather clouded screams like candy
And wave them in my head
I know I am far from sane but
I doubt I am better off dead
I dream of such wicked things
Spilled with feathers of old
I am told I am nowhere near normal
But I gather clouded being that matter
And keep them in my head
I know that I am far from sane but
Such things only matter when you are dead
I like the way the trigger looks
From a different page
Standing off the forbidden hill
A bounty to its name
I can make a killer of
The written word you see
Just one hook and it would sink
Into my willing brain
I think it sounds beautiful, the screaming. I want you to keep begging. Even the score between husband and whore. Come! Let me make a man out of you. One all the little boys and little girls can look up to. Scream a bit louder so the neighbors can hear. Fight a bit faster so they can know you feel fear. Because I want to make a man out of you. Society may judge me but they will never stand. You, a pathetic creature, have proven yourself a half man. So yes, let me hear you. Let me feast on your tears. No one will help you because no one else cares.
I wanted you to fight for me…but I can see that I will never be enough. Between the blood and the lust there is a gun just out of reach. I thought that you would need me yet here you are. Lying at my feet with wounds I don’t think will ever heal. I am almost certain that this isn’t even real but I see it. I feel and still breath and can smell the fact that I am not…I am not enough. I was never meant to be. I figured you would fight for me. Figured you would try just a little more. But between the blood and the lust I think I can see. I think I can truly see just how much of it wasn’t meant to be.
A/N a little dirty ditty for the ladies. Honestly this makes no sense. I may edit it soon.
