Chaossuicidemadness

I have a migraine and I'm the only one to blame,

blowing up the noise in my mind,

racking up the chaos,

hanging on to guilt.

It's like a raging collection of records,

half broken, half brand new, all underrated.

I say words like chaossuicidemadness,

but no one knows them like they're obscure bands.

Once hometown but now rogue, so far from real.

Yeah, that's me.

If I blurted out all the thoughts that form

under midnight caves in 60 mile tunnels,

you would tell me I need a filter,

kind of like you do now I guess,

only there'd be the implication of a straight jacket under it.

Wouldn't that be something?

A scrawling tattoo declaring honesty got me committed.

Well.

You'd never look me in the face again.

But it's not like you do now, so what's to lose?

My sanity's already gone and certainly, I've left behind normal,

same as I accidently left everyone important in my dust.

Well.

What a sinful dust, full of bad rhymes and poor rhythms.

Maybe that's why you never understood,

because I was a bad poet with scribbled writing

that reflected the spider cracks in my mind.

But then we didn't need proof of that,

you in the past were enough of that.

Well.

I'm sorry I had done that but I don't think I could fix it if I wanted to.

I don't think I could want it if I tried to,

because the spider cracks are canyons now.

What a lovely ledge we built.

The spike pit at the bottom crawled out of my nightmares

or maybe your hatred.

I can't even hate you back,

because I built that hate just as high as I built this edge

and it packs just enough punch

to knock me over, not on doorbells but under church bells.

Well.

I should know. I built it all for you

and left it behind when you didn't want it,

so now it's an unblessed cemetery,

the rotting bodies piled deep enough to touch hell,

but they don't get that privilege either.

Stuck like puppets in purgatory,

under the thumb of an unfair god before death.

Now left to wander without any laws at all,

biased to their bible but unfulfilled of their faith.

Left to wonder what they missed,

when really He just never believed in them no matter how hard they prayed.

Prayers like maggots,

the noise in the back of the asylum,

swatted away like gnats and locked down like violence.

This

is how I hear it in my head,

day in day out,

and I know the speakers will never sound the same.

It's like when I talk you just can't comprehend,

and I know it all sounds completely different to you,

but I don't know how to remix when I live like this.

The original on repeat, day in day out.

 

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