.:: Heartstrings ::.
Painting pictures on your skin
The wounded mark of suffering,
The fabled laughter hailing down,
From trauma greater than my own,
Yet I'm the one it's murdering.
I tried, yet I'm too weak to care,
Too far gone to see the stares,
At every inch of cut and scar,
At razorblade and chalkboard marks,
The irony of pain and pleasure,
Fused as one upon my arms.
Sick and twisted images,
Smile to see the blood run cold,
To see it all become so dull,
The fires of once so wonderful,
Now no more than tired aching,
Ice when faced with that before.
Pushing further, just a little,
Deeper into my demise,
Final lies are wearing thinner,
That none of this makes sense, moreover,
That none of this is any realer
Than if I were lifeless sleeping,
Hallucinating all the pieces
Of my faulted, mismatched puzzle,
Clue by clue it falls away,
And lands just out of reach.
You teach me to be careful
With my works of art,
My every move,
And with my heart,
My way to truth,
But both end up
As loose ends are,
Tied and left to hold themselves together.
© Aeryn & Jorien 2004 - All layouts copyright of the site owners. All poems, songs, stories,
drawings and other work copyright of the artist who created them. Do NOT take anything, or
we shall set our flying monkeys on you. If you want to use something, e-mail the owner
and ask permission.