Poison coated candies and tropical toxicity: poetic demons and razor-sharp rose petals, kiss the cerebral fluids sending shocks shakes to my brain. Daydreaming = lacking lucidity, everything speeds through my mind and quakes the nerves buried underneath torn flesh. “I wonder how long it is before the end of the Earth?” Will I be awake or asleep, and will it hurt? Nuclear love melts to nothing and acid tears that visine wont wash away. A force will tear me apart one day, and steal away what I’ve stolen and made. “Oh look, it’s Miss Popularity, will her goldy locks ever fall out?” One day, I’ll be visible, one moment in time I will be beautiful, and forsake them all. Cinnamon death tastes bitter, but a teaspoon of sugar ought to sweeten morbid thoughts, perhaps a side of blood for dipping my demise. Fallen angels glaze the ground and try consistently to feel their frost bitten toes. My wings are broken and the iridescent disguise has simply corrupted. “Why is it I that stings with pain?” Degraded by destitution, my world is next to nothing in reality. I fancy my surreality, where snow is but the flesh of my God and icicles are his stitches from being cut and beaten. “Hmmm.... the star quarterback gets away with hell again today, the masters don’t care, am I suppose to be surprised?” Puppets and dolls inhabit this place, I cry still, knowing I’m the only one with face. Disintegrating souls wither alone and I reside above all on my dragon’s blood throne. Overpopulated, this planet is, and here I stand innocently, trapped in my moonstone. The crystal ball’s forecast for today is sunny, but I still remain in the shadow with plenty of rain and torment to digest. At the end of every rainbow there’s a pot of mold, and at the end of every human there’s a mess of scattered and dull fool’s gold. Today I suffocate to keep my name, and tomorrow I will show you you all are the same. I doubt anyone is listening, that is why I choose not to speak. My head is my haven, my head is your hell, your prison, your cell... This is the part where I snap back to what’s real, and have a rough trip back where I can feel, damn bell. |
Submission Name: Subliminal Mind War
