it's not hollow like they say. But heavy where I lay. I cannot move. I cannot breathe. I must stay, not leave.
itís not hollow but weighs a ton I lay here till itís done I cannot see And again, I cannot breathe So, I wait, and grind my teeth, Patiently still, to take my leave.
itís not like a gun, Bang Boom then itís done, but a melon baller scraping pressing at my core Like someone knocking down my door. Full force, heavy not hollow For a long, moment, But after the movement its empty, ...
The dandelions grow. So, I strangle and I choke in hopes to make them croak I pull and I tug.
I rip up, with a rush, the dirty lengthy roots But every day another always shoots I make them choke as I face their pure yellows I make them drip white blood on my hands with strife but no matter how hard I strangle no matter how hard I tear those beautiful wretched flowers crowd my life.
I heard a buzzing from my head. I often wondered if I was dead. walking the streets, getting stares. What? do I have loose hairs All these strange looks. buzzing and ringing in my ear. Frightened faces drawing near. Whispering with frightened eyes, oh why must humans pry. It's my secret I must keep, oh it makes me cry, with the buzzzzzing as I creep. Why do I always mess things up? I reach what I'm sure is my house, open the door and "Honey, I'm home!", no answer, quite strange and quite hard to ignore. I unbutton my...
A night terror a night keeps sleep out of sight. I hardly sleep and when I do I often dream of murdering you not out of wanting or even need. These thoughts and dreams will just never leave. Every night I take a pill, in the hope of sleeping sound and still. But to the horror of my mind, what's in my brain is the slaughter. stabbing, ripping, thrashing about ill scream in alarm of that there's no doubt smash my head into the wall or make a great fall. At this point, I just don't sleep at all.
I sat under the lights on my ceiling. Some blue-tinged white lights that clung tight as to not fall from the sky. What am I doing? Staring at this bright white ceiling. Those lights turned to shadows against the paint of the ceiling. Seeing shapes come and go as my brain loses feeling.
Sat on my floor. Waiting for some sound at my door. Head leaned back. Attached to the bed by way of my neck to the edge. As the lights began their attack. Coming at me I think, 'isn't it supposed to be flat?'