Psych Art (Psychological Torture)

Muted grey

Shades of pain

Blurry sneers

My arms stretched out

Coils freeze on my limbs

Hanging above soulless concrete

Clearly I cannot see

Blood dripping like dew from every surface

Worthless wordless stories

Pressure of knives grinding into my ribs

My lungs stutter die start again

Hope in a feather

Lying in grass under starry sky

Fades to dust and burns away

This wasn't escape

Not when the meadow is walled in

Hope in a small, simple thing

Such nondescript cold power

Hope of no consequences no pressure no pain

Feeling of a feather in a bullet

Flying so fast from its barrel

Hope in this thing set in front of me

I kneel in my cell and stare

I am entranced, transfigured by my shards

Spilled on the hungry ground

Silent empty blank space surrounded by sound

Spewed from blurry sneers

Blood painting shades of pain

My shards form mosaics in muted grey

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