Little wall paint blue flecks of clarity
Flake around the brewing pot mind,
I can only look on and despair.
Look at this, they have stolen the silence –
There is no peace anymore,
There are only bugs and fingers
Which clench at each other.
These pecks shall chain me,
I will be forced to entertain their entrance –
I am bound in the cold unchanging certainty
Of their constructions.
This is the forever twilight that
I have been overcast in;
Some day, I will die and fly
Into the forever sky and drown in it’s a gaudy vastness
Until I too,
Can heed to those ghostly calls,
Those letters sealed with chilled black wax
With frozen coal petals inside,
Little poems of invitation scribbled on each.
What a lie,
What a beautiful decay, this sham lamb
Claiming to help a soulless.
This is my mouth, and when I open it,
You can only hear the shadows,
You cannot hear anything at all;
Substanceless lava thoughts, flowing out,
But it is hidden by a screen- a skin.
Can you listen to me?
Could you maybe sit still,
And develop slight patience for the
Unreasonable rambles of a sick heart?
Ah, remember. You cannot.
You do not have a sick mind,
You are not like me.
I am unlike, I am the only Black Dahlia
In a field brimming with red Tulips.
Will you tolerate me?
Or will you sit still,
And hear me die, die, die.