4-10-17
I hear your echoes down the end of the concrete,
We hold on for tonight
Because you don't sound the same,
And it's been awhile.
Doorstops and eyes drawn to shoes like magnets,
There's static in our mouths.
Lead you inside,
Stepping on bottles,
Watch them crack like lines on tables,
Let the destruction fan out.
Chips to an endlessly shattered piece.
I don't sleep lately,
These are the seasonal days
Where the ceiling sketches itself a void
And it swallows me.
I float, bloodshot and desperate.
Clear skies and clear words,
It's all dipped in pale,
As you sit at the edge of the mattress.
I even covered the blood stains for you,
But I know floorboards felt cold,
I know this room hardly kept itself together,
And I know the ceiling did everything it could not to take you, too.
There's a breeze when you strike a match,
The balcony leaves ask for entrance,
But the doors are stained,
And the ash all tunnels inside anyways.
Clouds and dissipation,
Fix me whole
Or break me even,
Straight down the middle-
Divide my pieces.
Tunnels are feeling empty,
Because I'm wandering between
What was and what will be,
Except I never know where the lights at.
We've been turning over personalities,
You don't sound the same.
Phone lines and I dream that I'm choking,
Wires cut my oxygen,
My fingers turn purple.
I'm hardly breathing at the thought,
I've lived a thousand lives, and tonight its familiar,
In all of the wrong ways.
Catch me like a noose,
Take me out the way we talked about,
Making future plans out of blades and desire-
You know you're still a part of me-
Just fucking do it, you bitch.
Your arches and tunnel vision will leave this room,
Part the tapestry on your way out,
And you won't say a word.
We've closed the distance,
But it only lasts a night.
We didn't dance on checkered floors,
But the entryway welcomed us, anyways,
And my demons dressed in their finery,
So we could all pretend to be something we're not.
After all, it's only temporary.
⁃ (m.m)
I ended it with a bit of class, to sort of show you the elegance beneath dirty, rundown, druggie apartments and shit. There's beauty behind the grime, and it takes something to see it.
Written to Crybaby by Lil Peep
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Self Deception
PoetryPoetry 2017 And if I burn out in a fit of psychosis, remember me as a young god, with that smile made of daggers, even if I was the most dangerous thing you could've touched. Perhaps all that danger comes from the multiple personalities, but all I...
