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29 September 2006

Poetry By: Lex The Damned
Other



The Massacre of my Soul Part II


Submitted:Sep 28, 2006    Reads: 202    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


29 September 2006 09:33am

Talk to strangers. Run from illusions. Scream at your mother. It's all the same in the end. Open a door because you're angry and abused. Any door. And when you're done running into the unknown. Please close it behind your ass. I don't want the sickness of your mind to attack the serenity of my illusions.

Or better still. Close your eyes and run down a corridor of yesterday's forgotten doors, yesterday's misshaped lives and lost chances. And in your blindness, open the door that says, "DANGER DO NOT ENTER." Look away when your voices say I told you so.

29 September 2006 09:42am

An unborn child flushed down in streams of blood. Too little to live, to unformed and strange to be a part of something. Lost. Dead. Withered on the floor. It cannot scream. It cannot be.

Maybe I should have tried harder not to be. Maybe I should have fought a little harder inside the safe confines of my mother's womb. Maybe I should have tried a little harder. Made a little more noise as those sperm where raping me. Maybe I should go back.

Who am I that think these thought and are not consumed by it all in the end? Victim of my demise. Victim of my soul. Victim of Love. Victim of everything that cares to vindicate me.

29 September 2006 09:44am

Keep breathing. Breaths that were never there. Keep breathing. Hold on to nothing. But keep breathing.

29 September 2006 10:28am

Swallow your tail and watch it wag inside your mouth. Swallow your life and watch it die from the inside out. Swallow me. Swallow them. Swallow.

29 September 2006 14:38pm

13 hours

29 September 2006 14:39pm

No life. No death.

29 September 2006 15:52pm

Strands of your hair hang in your face. And you look at the world from beneath the haunted mansion of your mind. Your eyes are black. And scared. What do you fear?

29 September 2006 15:53pm

You have short hair. And you wear sunglasses. Your nose is used for smelling my pain. Your gentle hands used to mould it into something worthwhile. Your mouth is sweet. With dark redemption. Dark verses. My blood.

Do you love me?

29 September 2006 16:25pm

No matter how hard it begs, I'll never try to save it. No matter how far off the world is, I'll never go back. No matter the emptiness of the soulless justifications, no matter the blossoms of their promises. No matter the living, no matter the dead. No matter. Nothing that ever lived. Nothing that was ever born. Nothing that ever became something. No matter the quiet street. Or the abandoned building on the corner. No matter the desert. No matter the green trees in some forgotten forest. Nothing really matters.

Nothing ever did.

29 September 2006 16:32pm

I don't want to save you anymore. Take it away. Throw it away. Burry it in a shallow grave so you can dig it up again. Close your eyes and deny my existence. Say I'm not there. Say I never existed.

And when you open them. I'll tear your eyelids from your face. And feed them to the decayed monsters of your past. Just so you'll never again deny yourself. Just so you'll never again say it wasn't there when it stood in front of you. Just so you can save yourself.

29 September 2006 16:49pm

Watch it walk over you. And walk down the hall to your bedroom. Watch it glance back as if paranoid that it will be followed. Watch it climb into your bed. And waste itself on your clean sheets. Watch it moan and smear your room with vileness. Watch it stand up. Watch it disappear. Watch it become nothing. Watch it never was.

29 September 2006 16:54pm

Listen to it knocking on the door. Watch it through the peephole of existence. Watch it's being resolve in a whirlwind of colors. Watch it turn to leave, disappointed because you don't care.

Watch it turn back when you yank the door open. Watch it smile appreciatively. Watch it grow unsure. Watch it become you.

29 September 2006 17:06pm

I gave my life away. There is nothing left to say.

29 September 2006 17:15pm

Life is a shallow grave that we burry ourselves in. Thus, our fates are in our hands. One may choose to be buried in sand. Or diamonds. Or ice. But forever doesn't matter.

29 September 2006 18:47pm

I'm sick. Of illusions. Of darkness. Of condemnation. Of pain. Of hate. Of rejection. Come be my hero and save me from my past.

I'm afraid. Of my illusions. I'm afraid of my own rejection. What if I open my mouth and my voice has been stolen by the spiders of time?

What if my life is an illusion? What if the one I love is part of this sickness? What if, in morbid reality, he does not exist at all? What if I am consumed by what I am until I revert to being nothing?

What if I don't exist?





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