The Bathroom

bad stuff, man.

In the humid white-light room

behind the guards' backs, there

too I gesture and remember, skin

is an inviting canvas

of whispering wishes that are

very many sinfull songs.

And in the eyes hovering

over silver, over-used

to seeing this, the sad

excitement for sharp edges, the sad

shaking of hands,

a happy unknowing world outside

like my voice,

the sad disguise I press on my liar-self.

 

The stretched pulsing vacancy

is being opened, and inside

of red walls of life-blood

and sawing like horsehair, knives

not unlike tongues,

and now there is something

that stares in the mirror with me

just a little evil,

growling blood,

knife in mouth, a creator,

looking intently, distracted

by the surrounding skin

and stating that "I am

not alone here," that

nothing will stay so clean,

nothing that is myself,

since "I am your blood."

 

Red leaks down my arm

and fills other

fantasies on other worlds

that are for so long

the same worlds

that granted me demons.

In the innocense where I picture

things bleeding,

well, screaming expression,

pale, enfuriating, completely

insane with dissapointment

I raise the glass or knife

and rapidly saw at it all again-

the songs of which I will

sing later, to toast

whatever it was

that destroyed me.

Author's Note

sigh. I'm tired of this already.

Reviews

[Linear]

Kind of dark in self harming ways the way the knife takes away the pain, yet bleeds for more, even pleads the scream of saw upon soft skin,sinews and hard solid bone that grates ........... :O)

[November Gold]

Very powerful, so sad, but the imagery you created was very vivid. I was there with you. A great write, something that feels very personal, so I applaud you if that is the case for being brave enough to share it, sometimes exposing the demon is enough to make it cringe back into the darkness it came from.

[dreaming dame]

Then find something that won't make you feel so. Easier said then done I know. A sad, but personal write. Nice.