off with their heads

 
depressed feelings
wrap their arms around me
lights my heart's halls
with candlelit grief

shadows of pain dance on the walls
they lead me into a great ballroom
where the lords and ladies
gossip in hushed whispers
they say I'm cracking up
then smile at me with pity

in this hallowed place of emotion
I have no voice
because I don't have a title

I'm just the waste
that used to house what was alive in me
my soul is detached
there's something missing in my eyes
a flicker, a flame
perhaps even my soul
 
fading low, until it's about snuffed out
when at last I'm awarded a title
I'm the mistress over displaced rage

ordering back the pain
that thought to undo me
with a razor sharp blade
I slash and cut

while the lords and ladies all bleed out their pity
it now stains my dance floor
my angry emotions are well spent