“Black” Eyes

"If I dig too hard..."

I might drag up beads of blood,

that spill like rivers down my arm.

Cackle to my inner teenage self,

and twist a little in.

Curl over my arm, like a madman covets his spoils.

What could you call mad, if it's perfected to a feigned innocence that shines like pearlescent white plastic orbs on a table?

I think I could admire the blues and pink hues captured in the false pearls,

but I think that you'd like to think I was just some twisted bitch bent on a rage ready to fall off the bench groaning under my sliding feet.

Hooking my knife into their ears,

tearing their reputation to shreds and burning my own glass house down to the ground.

It's the glass fire we all seek to churn.

For what is madness when there isn't a loss of self preservation?

You're not insane until you're ready to burn it all,

to take everyone with you, but yes, "dig a little harder."

Cut me until I'm gasping for air.

Because I love the way your torture makes me hurt,

gives me internal scars that makes me a little more bent inside

like the crooked man over the crooked road, waiting for all the black to consume the world.

I swear to you, I'm not the monster you think I am.

The empty smile isn't one you'll find on my face.

It's only when the light fades from my eyes,

and we meet each other with that same cold ass stare.

After all, aren't we mirrors of one beast in the same?

I'm not insane.

I'm perfectly fine.

Let me fix my face.

Let me make it all right again.

I'm not insane.

I'm perfectly fine.

Let me fix my face.

Let me make it all right again.