No more places to hide,
the shadow of a cross talking me,
outside the desert the bell sounds.
I can hear it calling me out.
Strings attached to every subject.
Puppets dancing in public.
I feel like the only non clone left.
I feel like they want to change my soul into something else.
Cloudy sky,
wonder when I’ll die,
I try to laugh,
but I only stay the same,
never to cry,
against the wall again.
Wash the blood from my face.
Running out of options,
zombies in the corporations.
Skeletons in the closet,
soon to be dead, in a few more steps,
not much longer before I’m silently asking for help.
All odds raining down,
just another reason for me to erase a frown.
Anger over weakness.
Hatred before tears.
The only reason to live.
Thundering in the distance,
the monster in the mirror, questions my existence,
verbal social suicide, of one mans persistence.
One more try before I fall into the pit of the vile,
losing another life.
Down the drain, with blood still on the knife.
Catch the metaphor before it slips by,
otherwise, you’ll be screaming hypocrite,
to only later ask why. |
