You write me a symphony of nightmares
And play the music as I sit
Chained to my ego, and weeping
Burried under ideas
A light cleared by doubts
And although it’s sickly smell envelopes me
Happiness, I cannot reach
Claustrophobia and paranoia don’t fit with it
Don’t fit with Boy Wonders and happy people
And although a play about vampires they can manage
Notice the children’s play eludes them
And stiff and aching fingers bang out broken prophecies
Pleas and cries for aid emerge from glossy lips
And a face thick with powder
Is pretending to forgive
And as songs to slit your wrists to play
She scoffs and scorns the emo culture
And Capitan Quebec can tip his hat
To the first time she left her bag at the door
The crazy boy’s song about a mad world plays
And she agrees
The dreams in which she’s dying
And their pity, and their fear
And the last minute love that they all give
They’re the best she’s ever had
And the boy who bought her a hot chocolate
His dad died, did you know?
The girl who was your best friend once
Her great grandma’s gone too
You only ever knew one of yours
Weepy and full of repression
Waiting for the day I feel good
Fingers stil hurt. Eyes still ache
This computer screen’s become my best friend
And although a poetry forum might not receive it well
This existential crisis has cleared it up
And the cold air whips around a clad frame
And freezes the heart in it’s bony cage
And imagines what she looks like when she’s drawn