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.
Love is for the idle dreamers,
they covet it like a pirate,
alone at the sea for years
searching for the most golden treasure in all of the seven seas.
But me you see, I’m different.
What I want is far from the fairytales I was raised on,
the ones that inhabited my veins and brain for years on end.
It’s not something for those epic love songs,
or love stories in orgasmic movies that make loveless teenagers girls swoon.
I want a lover to drink with, in the moments before the broken hour,
someone to dance with in the bottom of midnight,
I don’t need to feel like the only one,
to receive flowers at my door the very next day,
to belong to some grand idea of sweeping beauty and ideals of a time gone by.
I met a boy, in a dusk of delightful desire,
and come across me was a feeling of peace
when is eyes placed themselves on my fault-full face,
but I won’t kiss him with devotion,
I won’t hold him close to my chest and speak in magnificent epigrams,
all I desire in my born broken heart
is for him never to close enough,
to see the girl crying,
to see the child still holding on to roses left at her door
and take me dancing.
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.
You spend all your days
writing your stolen stoic siliques
on your throne made from white roses;
which should be mine.
Dream you dreams of a better world,
where the fire in the core
of your broken world,
dies out, yet we’re still alive.
The earth is at your feet,
following your stupid rules
of hope and good.
Where altruism follows through
and evil was lost and gone.
I forgot a long time ago,
I was the Grimm antagonist.
The master deceiver,
the treacherous villain.
I’m the evil witch,
who breaks the worlds hearts
with her whore magic,
concocted from dead flowers
and broken desires.
The cynics who sit and smile
were once the dreamers who loved too high,
they got their hearts broken,
fell apart and decided there’s no use trying anymore.
The lost girls who run and dream
want to be in with the cool kids.
They want to kiss the boys who smoke
fairy dust and then take them home,
steal away their pretty innocence,
play with thier hearts and dreaming things.
I sit upon the moors,
waiting for some grandeur cause,
I drink wine till I can’t see,
believing in a fantasy.
Cynical boys and little lost girls.
Let me tell you all I know;
that what’s in your head
those stories playing out,
are the best thing in this broken world.
The drugs taste like broken hearts
and blacking out kills you soul,
and those boys dressed
like James Dean,
your doe eyes
Come on down to the dreaming district,
my name is Bonnie
and I guess you’re Clyde.
Drink it down with a bottle of wine
Or vodka and moonshine,
If your mind can take you that high.
Come on down to the wasteland.
Where sad girls, are turned into
pretty diamonds with cracks ingrained.
They blag their way into hotel rooms
Laying half dead in an broken bed.
Kissing the beautiful felons into freedom
Where were you babe?
When this town we built on dead roses
started falling apart?
The Kray’s they are dead.
and the filth run the game
And the dreamers who would have
given their lives,
gave up instead.
On the road to hell
There are lost boys dressed like men.
They fall in love with a girl on the screen,
Drinking cheap beer
And dreams of lives
That are just a minute too far away
What these boys
Would give to the girls
They are like vultures
Circling imagined deer,
They want to devour her,
Like a pill
Or a needle filled with heroin.
until she is worth nothing