Unbroken hurts,
Faceless smiles,
Hurried hands
That part the skin to be closed,
I am in madness.
The pain I seek
To create the sting
Upon an already-disordered and used-up soul
Has made me feebler,
Born as the hungry Father of Cruelty.
I feast
Upon the beasts
To grow stronger, than the claimed spirit
I still possess,
Who is undressed.
Rotting fingers,
Wailing lungs,
Wilted form, among nestling pain.
Give me more grief
So that I may sleep.
Madness,
Conjectures,
Lies,
Families rent apart by my loathsome,
Cheerful self.
I want to cry
As I want to laugh.
I desire not sleep,
As I love to lie awake
To see my veins open themselves, closed.
God is but a blanket of disorder,
As I am the felled ashes of order.
If beauty is the skin,
Then I am its debris.
Like this:
Like Loading...