I don't want to get out again. Crawl into my skin, and hide my face from giving. Trap myself in empty rooms with peeling walls, see things in the photographs of my mind, beauty in the cliches of black, black ink on parchment, yellowing with melancholy age, form poetry off my lips.

I would cry my eyes swollen for those days. To break apart, and piece together a new self. Plaster my ears to the windows, to hear the fireworks and thunder in the dark abyss of night, to close my eyes forever, because they've decieved me once too many moments. Wrap my arms around a cold mannequin, and believe I'm finally useful to someone. Draw my tears on your walls. They're listening to you. They're crying for you.

Its like having everything fall apart, when you know you need someone to live for, because the concept of living for yourself is just not enough anymore.




credits of picture to shankinmonkey/deviantart