Slowly decaying.

Scissors and thumbtacks.

My ice veins,

Have an itch that only scissors and thumbtacks can scratch.

My demons,

Flowing out of my veins out of the crimson river,

Standing eight feet tall above me.

Taking control of my mind,

Scratching and picking at my brain.

Making the blade glide across my flesh quicker.

Making my vision go blurry,

And making my limbs go limp.

I wake up,

Up in wonderland.

Flowers sticking their thorns deep within my veins.

Vines,

Vines that strap me to the ground,

As the mad hatter stitches up my arms,

And pushes the demons back in to my cold veins.

I feel them crawling,

Making their way back to my brain.

I lay there numb,

Staring at my purple and blue limbs.

Watching the demons move under my skin.

Watching the rain fall up.

My demons have taken control of me,

My demons are in my brain,

My demons are in,

In my ice veins,

My ice veins,

That have an itch that only scissors and thumbtacks can scratch.