death of emotion. temper on the prowl. I crave exhilaration. I crave the nights where nothing but encapsulating melodies fill my plastic cranium. I tell you how I feel, you won't listen. I tell you I feel nothing, you nod and return to a life where nothing is wrong. it's not real, none of that is. those dreams, honey, won't bring you anything but heartache. get lost in them. inhale them 'till you get that high, baby! but just know, I won't be there for the withdrawals cos I tie myself to my bed frame every night so my soul won't murder my body in the witching hour. crushing my brain like plaster. late night exorcisms.
that's the life of a mind on the borderline.
on the brink of obliteration. my concept is an illusion. set me on fire, I'll feel nothing. hear the crackling of my dying self image. listen to the weeping of my mother without her daughter. hear the growing schism manifesting between mother and daughter. it shrieks, huh? rips apart your eardrums with claws of ivory, yes?
mis pesadillas comen mi alma hecha de seda podrida / yo era serafín con venas puras pero conocí a judas / en días dolorosas / y desde entonces mi corazón ya no era la misma / mi madre me mira con ojos de católica / y yo me miro con ojos de diablo
reality has washed away from me and I am inhabiting grotesque nightmares unholy. this is the death of a seraph with veins of purity. this is the death of an angel.
a/n: unedited and scrambled.
