Everyday, when I lie on my couch and ask
the mirror, "why everyday?" And it shatters
as I do. But, one of its broken pieces reaches
me and guess what? After some time, it formed
a unison with my blood. Afterall, that reflection
in the mirror is me.
My reflection in the mirror screams out, "you are
a crepehanger".Well yes. The devil inside me
is always waiting for a little spark to set ablaze
my own self, leaving my soul behind. My own
musings knocked me down. Only ny heart, and the
pounding head, said that I was still alive.
My wrath makes me swallow some pills, or
pour some firewater over my fresh blood
lying on the floor, gazing at me to add
some more part of me to it. Yes, that's the hope.
I get under the shower with my tears and
blood accompanying the water,
and the knife...drop by drop, drop by drop
colours the floor red. The crave for
my death is so beautiful. I look for
my favourite colour cloth just to hang.
My room smells of coffin nail lying over there
in the ashtray near my pen and paper with
a bottle of ink. I know, that is going to kill me
one day and it gives me pleasure.
Those Orphic nighthawks form a storm in
my head and always voyage to hit the shore
of my heart, and the sand under my feet
slips off there, dragging me to the ocean.
Not only my actions, but my own self makes
me feel wicked, and what would I even expect
on being maleficent every freaking time when
my paroxysm starts a conversation with the encephalon.
My solace resides in my melancholy.