Sometimes I'm scared
Scared of standing still
Not moving, not breathing
Like in a photograph
My beloved dead ones
With faces engraved in my memory
Look like they're still alive
In pictures and in videos
It's odd to think
think about it
While the photographer takes the picture
I see the lens and I smile at it
I hear the click
Time's frozen
I don't move, because I can't
My muscles are nonexistent
A piece of me is stuck
Stuck on the white paper
My face won't move
My eyes can't roll
I can't hear
Nor smell
Is this what it feels like to be dead?
Is it like you're printed in a photograph?
It's like a coma
I'm becoming insane
Or maybe I already am
It's odd to think
I think about it
While the photographer takes the picture
I see the lens and I smile at it
I hear the click
Rip the paper apart
Rip me apart
My soul is already broken
My thoughts are like the bad quality
The bad quality of the picture I'm stuck in
I'm bound to the paper
It's the only rock to hold on to
But your scissors cut deeper
And the stainless is the only thing I can feel
It's odd to think about
But I think about it
While the photographer takes the picture
I see the lens and I smile at it
I hear the click
And then time stops
Everything is slowed down
While my heart is cold
As cold as absolute zero
YOU ARE READING
Depraved Lullabies
Poetrythe thing he'd die for he dies by These are the depraved lullabies from my dreams. - this poetry collection is featured on @StoriesUndiscovered! READ AT OWN RISK CONTAINS TRIGGER WARNING TOPICS
