Before I Die... Drag me through the woods
Through the river I have bled
Listen to what I said, I won't say it again
I wish I were dead
I'm not thinking I should
But I'm feeling I would
Bet on me what's your chance
Bet on me what's my chance
I wish you were here
I'm really glad your not
Cut myself with the broken mirror glass
I've been sowing my seeds and tying my knots
Your pain attracts me
As your resilience inspires me
I hope you know it's okay if your heart denies me
I'll never hold you to anything you've ever said to me
Don't let a lonely heart fuck with your head
Live your life, don't let yourself die inside
Feel something and drown in it
Die or breathe new life
We can die when life is better than this
We don't know our last birthday
So love me as long as you wish
But waste no life on it, okay?
The hell I live is understanding everything
Even if I have to know nothing
Hate me and hate me strong
I hope you feel the same about me even when I'm gone
I don't believe it's wrong
And sorrow won't last long!
I am the break!
I am the mend!
I am the truth!
I am the bend!
I am the tear!
And the connection!
Know I'll be here far after natural selection.
all at once
it's your mom screaming at you
for not being enough,
it's your dad averting his eyes
each time you look at him
and his demeanour cold
like that of a whited sepulchre,
it's the quiet voice inside your head
that usually whispers out
metaphors and odes to your
very own self, fast forward seventeen years
in the future,
screeching like a choir
of too many banshees
and you can't see
the patterns on the four walls
and it's just white,
a Hindu funeral procession,
and Van Gogh's stars aren’t blinking owlishly,
they're scarecrow still,
looking at you losing your art
dictionary of glued (in) sanity
and it's you switching your sombreity
with switch blades and suddenly,
you are a somnambulist
walking with your eyes open,
sliding down dark hallway walls
suddenly you, are in a horror movie
and the darkness seems inviting.
it tugs you by the cuff of your screaming mind
and twirls seductively around you
for you to go with it.
(blue-white walls of a psyche ward)
abyss and night merge together
in your muddled and huddled imagination
and you become the one falling
into the nightly pitch
and everything's too fast
the darkness curls around your wrist
and smiles like burning water
and you stay as still as the stars
looking down at you
and as calm as the words
in a horror novel;
everything is bland.
it’s too perfect.
and there's no such thing as
hell, heaven or paradise;
a madman is not schizophrenic
doesn’t see too much.
a madman isn’t mad at all.
his gaping wound of knowledge
sequence dances in a
dim-lit room of truth;
there’s a silver lining
between night black and pitch
and insomnia replaces hypnosis
but you've never seen a red night butterfly
and when it surges into Van Gogh's palm,
he makes it a yellow star.
i read somewhere that he swallowed
yellow paint hoping to be happy)
a smile is a soul.
it’s there but it isn’t.
and you realize,
you don't have to smile
to be happy.
-i tried to scream but my head was underwater-