This room,
It's darkness,
It's stuffiness,
It's suffocating me!
I choke and I cough,
As the love and the life,
The romance of living,
It's squeezed and is drained,
Abandoning me,
As Pale as can be,
As weak as can be.
being drunk on life,
What a burning desire
What a distant dream,
I tell people I have that,
Making me a damned liar.
Drenched in sweat,
and stained by blood,
My body scarred,
By the slashes of a sharp, knife like tongue.
Every inch of myself,
Inside and out,
Aches and is bruised,
By not just others,
But my own brain and heart,
As I'm gripping my hair,
And pulling it out.
Is this how it feels?
Growing insanity?
My breathe is shallow,
The world closes in,
Why do people care
About what tune I sing?
More importantly,
Why do I care,
That they care
About even the way I breathe?
We each have a role in this play
As everyone says,
And some people they aren't happy,
With just their roles,
So they try to turn the play,
Into a puppet show.
They want to control you
Dement you, Posses you,
But though it is hard,
Everything is hard,
You must punch them away,
And direct your own verse of the play,
Keep it a play,
The verse you contribute,
To this scarred and tortured world,
Should only be up to you,
So you must decide what
Your verse shall be,
Or else they will,
They'll tell you what to be.
Freyja's Musings 