Waking Up

I’m dancing with the devil

slowly moving on a floor made of knives.

Heart shaped hole in my chest is thirsty

for lies.

There are no words when our eyes are

speaking in their own language.

I don’t feel my feet anymore, I think

they’re gone.

They must be gone.

But who needs feet when you are able to fly?

All the emptiness is gone, and suddenly

my body is filled with life.

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems