In a broken hourglass
with sand falling like rain,
I committed myself to hell;
and only then
in that moment I knew my soul was condemned
did I finally belive.
Not in some hopeless desire
that to hold him in my heart
would save myself from retribution.
Because I felt in my bones
in the time of the sin
my blood boiling,
my heart breaking
and divinity coming in.
I am a masochist in more ways the one
I bet if I could I would burn myself with the sun.
My broken soul is filled with inward rage
that cuts me in actions I will always engage.
my worst impulses, how do I resist them?
First they will briefly save me, then they condemn,
if this was a lover, one which I held in my heart,
I would have prevented this madness before it could start.
But I have no love for me
No way out of this labyrinth I can see.
So I think I’ll continue in the 5th circle of hell
Doing the only thing I could possible excel,
But inside my failing brain, there’s only hate
a sicking posion, that tells me its my fate.
The drugs and hollow sex are my only cure
for a second away from my tragic lore,
maybe there is another medicine to take away my pain,
one that won’t rot itself inside my brain.
But I am a masochist in more ways than one,
and I fear soon I will die in the sun.
Oh no, I have died again.
My body is breaking down
inside the hallow ground
I can feel the soil,
clogging up my lungs
and turning my heart to gold.
I don’t know who killed me;
He was a coward, I imagine.
Who stabbed me in the back
then sent my mind below
Dying is a crime
i’m well versed in.
I fell down and down
and over and over.
I hadn’t yet chose which way to die
not like before.
I found a bottle filled
like a rattle toy,
I had as a child
it emptied in minutes,
Then He revived me and
like Cain I killed him.
My hands now moving,
my blood is boiling,
my fingers print clawing up,
wasting a life.
Our synapses are hopeful,
pulling me into the air.
I rose up,
saw the trees
covered in blood
And walked away.
Don’t you worry, I will die again.
But that time better
More beautiful and
Fall into the water and hopefully
the lonely moon won’t bring me back
Coffee and roses beaming through
cracked walks of ivy and stone.
Like wine glasses emptying slowly
bleeding into the floor.
Give me a glass, give me neon.
Give me sultry desire wrapped up in glitter.
Burnt out cars, window tainted sour
driving into the midnight sunset.
Trust me when I say, stay away from the moors,
all that lays there are death and lonely skeletons
Children who won’t grow up,
they lay lost, oh please give me hope.
Smelling coffee and roses,
singing lost stories.
Someone once cried into the dying night.
For candles and wet witches to light
or wait for the wildfires to catch
and save their life
or kill them first.
They would burn in a white fire,
like that of a broken girl’s eyes
waiting for her heart
to be lit up like a cigarette.
Wishes and dreams betrayed them,
the fire took over
but somewhere out in the lost forest
someone else cried out,
over her stolen innocence
and forgotten life,
so, the dying night
became day instead.
Bury me in ash
while you cut my throat,
water the roses with my blood
and fertilise the sunflowers with my bones.
Dry me out until the skin is gone
and my heart has turned to stone.
The rip it out and eat it
while I lie down on my own.
Go far away
swim into the sea.
With my heart in your hand
and my blood in your mouth.
Come back one day
and raise me from hell.
I shall sit up from my shallow grave
a shadow of a girl.
Lost in state on dead.
I don’t hold grudges,
not now, not ever.
if someone shows me how little I mean to them;
I just stop caring.
They leave my mind
to even utter their name in the remote parts of my subconscious.
But it’s not real.
Its not sustainable
and one day very soon
the flood gates will open
and it will crush me.