The stitches I got from you,
Bleed as I cry to the moon,
Yet not a tear have I shed,
These drained eyes harbor self-dread,
Was it you or was it me?
Who slaughtered all feeling,
You, my dearest reflection,
In the mirror who keeps pleading,
As I stop thought-conceiving,
Dreaming, screaming, believing,
I ape my peers when the sun shines,
Make pacts with my demons when night arrives,
Ask me what emptiness is,
And I'll let you know,
I will rip my flesh and part my ribs,
Showing you a heart that beats no more.
