It really wasn't...
And I know that I can twist this truth as much as I want...
Whenever I'm sober, when I know I can put up that fake plastic smile;
Just a few formal words that burn like acid from a liar's lips!
"Differences in personality, a divergence in ideals..."
Please, fucking, SPARE ME!
Because when I look in this mirror, I know.
When I see myself looking back at me, I know.
Right here, right in front of my own blackened self;
Those eyes that both reflect and stare into my dingy soul.
I was the problem.
I was the instigator.
I was the perpetrator.
And when I had broken every last bit of her,
I was the one, who let it al
Scream again.
I can't contain the pain.
I need the bite of blade,
need to see the blood.
Trapped inside my head,
screaming never stops.
Hating everything,
I need to get away.
Can't escape myself.
I find me wherever I hide.
I can't keep it in.
I can't let it out.
Letting go doesn't grant release.
My monsters hold me down,
hold me back,
lock me away.
I can't come back.
Trembling with emotion,
I reach desperately.
Reach for the unknown.
Even the silent air can't quell my screaming.
Shatter all my shackles,
shatter all my chains.
Break the doors and walls apart.
I'll release my demons.
All I need to do is let everything out.
Every last vanished s
today is the day i grow my fangs.
no longer will i put my tail
between my legs when i pass by my
reflection; no more will i cower
before the wicked dreams
that whisper deceit in my ears.
i shall throw back my head
and howl to the moon whenever i
wish. the cowardly hunger will
be sated by the bones of my
monsters, crunched to nothing but
dust between my teeth. even the
devil will fear my rage for at
last, i am beginning to cherish
this temple that protects my
still-mending heart.
as for the dread that still threatens to cage my wild soul?
i will hunt it down
and tear it to bloody shreds with hidden claws
that once lurked beneath my
trembli
bullets in a shot glass by littleblueraccoon, literature
Literature
bullets in a shot glass
Again the archers are aching,
again their bones are breaking
like the cracks in the Colosseum.
Death does not defend
eager-eyed
fighters; he does not fulfill
godly goals of
heaven and halos.
I am inverted, introverted,
a jester jeering
at kids who kiss
like life is long enough to fall in love.
my mouth is a machine,
a new nightfall
ordering our soldiers out
into pits where they pray for peace.
the quirks of our
ridiculous readings rule us,
sand us into sculptures
thin and tall, trembling.
our universe is built on uncertainty
and vicious virtues
written by long-dead warriors who
expected to live forever, and
I do not yield to your
well
I was young as spring,
and held to an autumn's wind
like pomegranates
hung from the highest branches
before black crows hollowed them
•
autumn flurries came
with the scent of fallen fruit,
piles of dying leaves,
dark brothers crushed underfoot
to be shelter for next spring
I like myself best huddled
between broken thought and sky,
when the sun stretches just tall enough
to ignite my hair in embers.
I pretend it makes me lions,
and that I can roar and smile, all teeth
and bones and not afraid of anyone…
but a glimpse of my reflection, and
I scramble under covers.
And sometimes when I shine a
flashlight down my throat, that’s all
I see: corrupted caverns and the ghosts
of pills burning through my vocals…
but I spat them out six months ago,
and I’ll be damned if I give in
so much again… but more than that:
there’s fear.
I never wanted to be someone
defined by narr