IllTrying to build myself wings out of paper and wordsPaint the margins black with the spectres of my mind.Dislodging tumorous scarsthat spread to my belly with the flow of my blood.Your name is darknessYour face is passionYour voice a knifeLabyrinthine mind that devours my sparkleaving me porcelain on your mantle.Smash the panes of windows of memoriesor paint them silver, looking in on myself.I search the glass, and find only the shadow of myselfin the window behind.Which is more hollow? I cannot tell.
Melodic brokenI wish I could sing you the song of myselfthe aria of my colorsthe crescendo of my heartresounding in the cathedral of your mind.A hymn for a broken lifethe saint of your eyesan idol smothered by devotion.Given wings with your praisethen broken by the steel blade of possession.Obsession breeding darkness;blind, you grope for my hair, my hands, my lips.Wrapped in you, I cry alone as you sleep.Lost. Dim.A dirge whispering through me.
MistakenI want to cry into your arms so you catch my tears with your fingers and brush them away with the compassion in your lips.Your eyes might be too soft for me, your words too kind. I feel one half growing stronger as the other grows weaker.In my haste I may have forgotten that I am human, and not just a being possessed by pure thought.I play my life inside my head, Im starting to think the curtains are drawn against my pupils.Maybe all I want is your touch. Just the whisper of your silent lips on the surface of my heart as it fades.Still alone, after all these years? Ill bet you thought youd moved on, she says. But there are still two of us.We live in here, in the silence. No ones yet broken in. Put me in a cage and run all you want. Ill find you. No one else will.