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Circles

It's always a circle,

Its why nothing good nor bad lasts long enough for me to settle with my feelings,

a tortuous carousel beating solely through my heart,

Round and round it goes,

until it goes round no more.

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I feel the violence, the warmth, the shaking, the rush-

for the longing deepness of death.

I need that feeling; the feeling of nothing at all.

A solitary crow flies circling and following death around.

Is that why one always follows me?

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Wicked bones, whispering chants of our hypnotic death. Bewitching my mind to a suicidal beauty.

A lovestory pickled in red, the salty brine glistening into lifeless hue.

Stained shirts spashed and muddied with the times. Blood-wine hug the fabric with a loose sense for pattern.

Wash away the pains of life and be reborn tainted and impure. Whats done is done, and must remain.

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Every wicked bone within,

Wispering chants, groaning of a hypnotic death,

Bewitching the heart into a suicidal lust.

Creating a paradoxical lovestory, painted in red. Calypso enchanting and beckoning me to touch the endless nothing.

Leaving remenants - muddied walls and floors filled with cobwebs and murky blood, let me free from all in which I hate.

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Stars

These old forgotten shelves thickly smothered with dust,

Suffocating me, this acrid taste of death steals my breath.

Cracked and stained pictures frozen in time, its beauty and happiness unsoiled by the worlds eyes,

Then this knife a key to the stars opening the door to the stars,

A dimension of happiness and contentment,

This knife is a compass to reveal the constellation within these empty veins.

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Each mistake, each failure,

They chew, lacerate and desecrate my thoughts of confidence.

A tarnished part I'd never regret to forget.

Imprinted and stained like silver scars onto a woundful tapestry which only my eyes know of,

Depicting this Promethian tale; this bloody liver wont survive tonight.

As giving my heart was my mistake.

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The restlessness of never getting well again, tears never reach the floor, only my expectations of being one again.

This glass roof collapsing in on me, please give me the closure I deserve. Severed, broken and locked away.

Frozen cold, im just a capsule an exhibition to be seen and forgotten.

Every clinical night these thoughts race around my head taking me back to the sweet strawberry hospital x

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Garden

>Each break in the sadness reveals thr comfort I found myself blessed in.

Growing in love with the loneliness.

Long nights, hellish days; my favourite companions, both harkening to delicate, youthfull seedlings.

Isolated, innocent and imprisoned. It's subtleties to perish from my negligence. A cruel game of life and death.

Forgive me for the disrepair, unbeknowlingly losing what makes me, me. Losing the little humanity entrusted onto me.

For this is the pinnacle of sin.

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Noble trees stand alone, memorise beautiful tapistries of the forest floor.

A twisted mozaic, never to be replaced, resonating within the fabric of nature itself.

Everything is connected, intertwined, and knotted.

'Nothing Matters' the trees groan, In that moment, I became truly free.

The extecential doubt of life - reduced to two sides of a coin, a metamorphasis to exist as one in itself.

Tipping the scale of life and death; we're already dead.

Dead on arrival.

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Gossmar veil

The gossmar veil shadows my senses,

Each restless night,

And every morning sunrise,

They embody true monotany.

Like a plague flower, its beauty has become my madness.

Sinking slowly,

Lead weights enshround my bones, crushing the lightness of joy.

Despirate eyes,

Thorny eyes.

Lassitude lives, condemming destinies to decay in ghost-white oblivion.

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The angels don't fly;

The angels don't breathe.

Like a winter's leaf only to freeze and fall

Into the cold cradle of death.

Take this lullaby and this blade, show me your true colours.

Every promise has come loose, so please

Slacken your collar and breathe.

One final breath.

Leave me and our infant dreams to rest, trodden.

Cold embraces to scatter.

Memories to fade.

My cracked and bitter lips to peel open agape,

'Wait for me, my delicate winter angel'.