escapril '20

the view from up here //4-5-20//

he pushed his fingers
through their veins,
finding comfort in the way
that their crimson blood
dripped from his fingers
down to his singed wrists
[hoping they'd feel the pain
they'd put him through]
and with every bitter word they spoke
be breathed vile air
back down their throats
[making them fall to his feet].
the view from up their
must smell mighty and intoxicating
[yet metallic and sour]
not being able to tell the blood red
pouring down their collarbones
from the blinding rage
he saw from behind his eyes.
he wore scarlet tinted glasses
to block out the wrongs he was doing,
he believed it would cancel out -
given the hell they'd raised in his mind before he took matters
into his own hands
[both onto his own skin
and onto their throats]
people always say
it's hard to live and understand somebody
until you've followed them home
[people can wear a smile
that lasts a mile
but behind the scenes
be screaming]
and for him that couldn't have ever been more true,
he just never realised how much he'd love being underestimated,
especially if it meant going from the prey to the predator
[from feeling like he's worth nothing
to feeling blinded elation].