He uses ‘I love you’ as a noose to hang you with.
When I go away,
I look at random people in the street,
Survey them up and down,
And enjoying it,
But that all pales in comparison,
When I realise,
That they probably have happier lives,
As much as I enjoy,
To compare my weight with theirs,
The symmetry of my face,
With their features,
Out of place,
There’s no mistaking that radiance in their smile,
The brightness behind the eyes,
The way their whole body reacts,
To a laugh,
Genuine and clear,
Cutting through my judgement,
And twisting my soul.
So full of life,
A life I could only fake,
Judging other people,
That was my last mistake.
And though they’ve fallen from the skies,
Still I salute to dead magpies.
There’s a little girl screaming in my head,
Tearing chunks from her scalp and battering her face,
And all I do is watch.
Sometimes I get the strength to scream back,
Aggressively and full of spite,
‘Why are you still here?
No one wants you
You were entertaining for a short time but now I need to sleep.
Adults need sleep,
Adults need to make money,
Adults need to stand firm against the current and provide.’
But she doesn’t care,
She keeps on wailing as I wrap my hands around her throat,
Watching her eyes protrude and bones snap,
I just wanted to make her stop.
But still in the night I hear her,
Tiptoeing through the room and edging into my bed,
she entraps me in her arms,
Stronger than the force I thought had killed her.
And so I welcome her,
Gather her into my heart and pray for forgiveness,
Rocking her gently,
Too weak to fight her off,
‘Well, ok, just one more night.’
Take a chunk like they have done before,
But on the way out be sure to lock the door.
There’s monsters out there asking to come in,
Looking like angels but dripping in sin.
Tongues outstretched trying to get a taste,
Puke out some love then leave in a haste,
But I don’t care anymore, just look what you’ve done,
Moulded a killer from this awkward son.
You think you maybe going crazy,
But it’s just the devil that’s making you lazy,
Try overpower him but you know you’d rather,
Create a disciple to kill your father.
And in the night you see them in the trees,
Throwing whispers to bring you to your knees,
And as they beat you like a decrepit horse,
You protect your brain while your soul grows coarse.
And still they whisper from the trees,
Bleeding from the inside you beg god please,
But yet again you get no answer,
Riddled with tumours, no sign of cancer,
Slowly coming to the realisation,
That life is simply an interrogation.
How can you feel important when no one else thinks you’re important?