As midnight strikes
I awaken to find me in nothing but bedspreadWait, why am I sweating?
Why do I hear music?I'm in the trance you've put me in
Leading me by hand
Bodies wrapped in soft silouhette
Feet to tap to the music
You make me hear, music
That music
Why does it remind me of the time
When you were alive?
Wasn't that your funeral song, darling?
I had stopped hearing that a long time ago.
Death makes people crumble.Isn't it lovely to be here with me?
You whisper
I want to scream at the hiss in your voice
The scars on your face, the noises you're making
Is this all my head?
But what proves this
Isn't real?
Have you been sleeping dear?Your eyes scorch red
I don't want you to stare at me with eyes so deep
In your skull, it makes me seem like
Nothing else is left but you and me
At midnightIsnt it lovely to be here with me?
You whisper
I want you to stop saying that
When all you want to do is
Conquer my body
For your own
Eat me alive with your
Fingernails deep within my chest
And your head buried in my neck
It seems like you know what I thinkYour mouth curls into a smile
Why does mine too?
Am I you? Are you me?
Are we one, at midnight?
The mirror lies shattered on the floor
And I see you in me
Smiling coyly at the beauty understated
My fingers curl up in the sense of my being
And I don't feel my toes anymore
Is this what insanity feels like?Isn't it lovely to be here with me?
I whisper
Of course it is honey
For you are me, and I you.
Together as the click strikes midnight
You now know why
Mirrors scare me
When nightmares come to life
In the form of ecstacy
Save me, I scream. Save me
From me.
Run away with me, to a place far away
From ecstacy.
Where I don't see red stains on window panes
It pains me to be you
To find you in locked doors and dark floorsIsn't it lovely to be here with me?
I whisper
Music feels like wintertime
Is that snow I feel on my skin?
Or is it you trailing down lines on my body
Making me insane like you?
Because the world is spinning the song of your laughter
Don't make me dance with you
One
Two
Three
One
Two
Three
One
Two
Stop.
YOU ARE READING
Misted Thoughts
PoetryA resultant of the cacaphony of the head, heart and mind. A collection of words, that I myself am unable to fathom. Go ahead at your own risk.