rats, bloody rats

these scurrying bastards,
foraging deep inside the guts of my mind
where the pillars still stand strong in their places
whilst their marble tiles crumble,
stripping the surfaces and unveiling underlying structures
that built this mind fortress.

this is where the weak lay to rest
in silent wonderment
and lies find themselves tucked into the cracks on the wall.

this is no safe haven
this is no hiding place
merely a temporary refuge
where you either accept that the world is deteriorating around you
or carry on lying to your sweet, naive self
because everyone is a self obsessed cunt like you
taking everything for granted.

everything is creaking
like the doorknobs that hang tired and abused from their hinges
leaving doors ajar that breathe in their frames
and lead to fucking nowhere at all,
so don't be fooled, my friend, because this
is not a strategy game, this is not a puzzle,
whatever you choose
will always take you
back to you.

judgment day in cups of tea
swallow it all, for when your lips are dried and cracking
from this coarse reality,
nothing will quench this undying thirst,
life as you know it will become a mere mirage
of truths, truths, truths never
to be realised, only to be dreamt upon.

these purple days and satin nights
they give me visions that glow like cheap lampshades
though it is my mind that suffers
this is the best place to get lost in;
these crumbling pillars, they hold my sanity
like a prisoner
like a foreigner.

--

i feel like crumpled paper
watching the days pass through my pupils like
blinds blocking out the sunlight
as these fingers tremble like leaves
in the passing of unforgiving winds

i align myself to the rhythm of old washing machines
and heavy music, segmenting
the little trails of what is left of me on different corners
for cobwebs to build defense over
until the day comes where i will pick up the
shattered pieces like breadcrumbs
and put myself together again

--

this is an unbearable time
everything is rushed and raucous
the words fall like rain
on the fray of conversations left unfinished.
the bitter cold
meets my fingertips
clogging my breath and piercing my lungs,
it is the cold of misery, haunting
but endearing, like the ghosts of loneliness
seeking comfort in your peripherals, like a witch on fire
casting spells to fend off her agony of an honest existence.
scream aloud, scream aloud, scream until
your voice breaks into a million discordant notes
that rings out to the dissonance of
an uncouth rage.

everything stalls at once
these are the moments you hear something
break
in the distance
so i keep going, keep going
keep going
run fast, and run out of breath.

--

the lights are flickering a dreadful fluorescent,
this is the color of a blind man's soul,
playing mind games and eye illusions that keep the world at
a double vision.

the demons lurk in the shadows you  build for yourself,
the demons, they lurk and smirk, and dance around the sleep you learn to abort,
giving birth to night and shadow puppets that
tell stories of your impending death
egging you on to play
to play.
my friend, succumb to this,
for pain is so much easier to understand than
a full and flourishing
hope,
hope is for the weak
hope is for the weak
hope is for the weak.

wake up, shake up - rape yourself
and become the bastard child of your own
mind's abandonment.

--

these guts ache.
they ache like the end of the world,
they form beautiful disasters in the sky
of a catastrophic mind that survives through
the sufferance of others.

the sudden crash,
i ask you, what is it worth?
this twist of a story that ends almost always
in imminent damage.

light refracts into the pores of my skin,
pinching at veins that feeds out a dead crimson hue,
everything tastes like iron and stale bread,
casting shadows on the spine of every matter,
these shock and awe exhibits
they scare, they intimidate, folding into the corners
of this origami perspective

these scurrying bastards
knew exactly how to pick up
from where they left off.

i stare at the damage
laughing, crying, screaming
and immediately become the witness
the victim
the perpetrator, and realise my statement alone
is enough to put me away for life
but it is times like these when it is clear
that is is easier to take the blame
for all the wrath the world has to offer
than to keep running.