Teeth Through Your Hair In The Morning,
Clamped In Hot Irons And Subdued,
Tied Up And Left To Hang,
Don't Forget To Cake On Your Mask.
Colors, Colors,
So Many Colors, More Than Even The Rainbow
Inspections Go Badly, Many Failures Are Thrown To The Floor
Even The Norrowed Down Winners Look Iffy
Colors, Colors,
Must Pick The Right Colors
Straps, Chains , And Bands,
Which To Pick, Which To Pick,
Perhaps Plastic,
Perhaps Silver,
Or Perhaps Gold,
But You're Not Done Yet,
Which Tonic Will Poison You Today?
Cherry Red?
A Bright Yellow Screwdriver To Tear Down Your Throat,
It Stings.
But You Don't Stop.
The Poison Gives You Temporary Release.
A Venamous Tonic. It's Worth It In The End.
Next You Throw Yourself To The Mattress,
Pleasure Becomes Pain,
Happiness Becomes Sadness,
But You Don't Stop,
You Can't Stop,
You Need It.
His Strong Hands Against Your Skin
Scarlet Dripping Down Your Chin,
With A Mask Caked To Your Face, He Can't Tell,
He Doesn't Care What You Really Feel.
The Colors, The Poison, His Torture Chamber,
It's All Worth It.
Anything To Keep Yourself Alive.
I watch You Destroy Everything We Had Because You Think You're Dead.
Anything Is Worth It.
. . . . Is It Really?
YOU ARE READING
Jasmin Lyle Smith
PoetryWhatever I feel and think. Mostly in the form of crappy poems. Experiences I've been through, recollections of encounters, and my deepest emotions.