Poem -
Damage
- Through my window the sky was a rush of dark dreams and sorrow. I have no vision and I have no pain just a cold blade of steel criss crossing into the vein and this warm sense of freedom exploding from within exorcising all my demons and everything I have been. And now I am alone with just my wound but falling in love with the high of the release of no longer being me. The comfort of isolation is complete when you are bleeding and the beauty of its colour absorbing into the pure whiteness of the sheets. And so I dream I want lie for ever soaked in the juices that my desperate existence secrets. And once again I will take this blade and turn it to the light and let it shine within me, sharp and incisive it gives meaning to a blunt useless life. And so it comes to pass that I mutilate myself just so I can stay alive when all I want to do is die. The blade is the lie.
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