Dear Humanity,
Choke on the stars and wish on the rocks, burn out the oceans and drown in the cigarettes: fire always hurt more anyways. Breathe in the poison darlings, and stay away from the oxygen because you have a knack for self destruction and it's time that we made the beauty in suffering.
Starve your bones, cut your wrists, and cry your tears: for the bones aren't brittle, the blood isn't red and the tears aren't wet. Lay them at my feet and I will make them into poetry-I will carve into your white washed bones with your Crimson blood as my sinful ink and I will wash my canvas with your forgotten tears, and all the while I will make you a masterpiece. Never mind the pain that you will feel, or the hopeless desolation that will infest your heart like a plague that dances en pointe; with every gran de jamb crushing your lungs and squeezing every metallic breath out of you like the broken piece of scrap metal you are.
Never mind the stars that you will chase into oblivion-wishing on dead souls as you plummet off the edge of the world because you never were looking where you were going, and you just slipped off the edge in a beautiful memory that spoke of no notice. Never mind the dirt you swallowed: handful after handful in efforts to build a garden within yourself and to cultivate the tulips. But you only grew roses and they all have thorns. And you may have swallowed the rain, but it only drowned you inside, and you tried swallowing the fire to dry out your flooded soul, but it only burned you up inside and now you're just a pile of ashes.
But never mind that, darlings. Never mind the pain. Never mind any of it. Because I will make it beautiful. And all your suffering will be worth the while because I will have encouraged your pain and watched you die for my own amusement because that's what I do. I kill. From the inside out because it gives me joy and that's who I am. Let the darkness consume you. Let it take you over and I will write you into a sonnet, speak you into a soliloquy, envision you within the light and paint you into a masterpiece. I will make you beautiful, and in the end, when your pain has been made into poetry, you simply won't be missed.
-Society
•12:21am
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Musings
PoetryMy thoughts are most awake at night. Some of them are worth sharing. Most aren't. So here they are. My Midnight Musings.
