It was only a simple lie that I told to withhold the truth, and to conceal my dirty secrets. But the matter consumed me from the inside, baring all things unholy. Once I was a virgin, my body that was wrapped tightly in white lace, was penetrated by corruption, and devastation. I wanted nothing more than to be behind those shut up doors that concealed the good in life. But here I am on the outside, dying in the cold air that my own breath polluted. The words that spilled forth from my mother’s belly were words of hypocrisy, and agony for the ears that found themselves lying upon my face. My hands crawled to my temples trying to drown and immerse the dreaded noise into the deep waters of silence. My father’s promises lay craved in stones with the ripped wings of butterfly kisses.
My hands are red with the red paint of rage and wrath that fill my nights with beautiful dreams of terror. I awaken to the painful memories of past mistaken mistakes, and find the condensation of my own persecution running rapidly down my face. In the shadows of desire I calm the lust that I hold for the evil things, and hold in my hands the key to all things that were buried in the boxes with the corpses of my wars. If you listen closely you can hear them whispering amongst themselves the fate that they have in store for me; because I chose boldly not to be what was expected of me. On my arms I write in tight calligraphy the words that had been stolen from me along with my sanity.
With a voice of thunder, I created hot conflagrations with the ones that bore me, and I cursed them all to damnation, I wanted nothing more than to feel the elevated sense of position in my invisible little world. I wanted that high that only the over-the-counter drug of pain could give to me. My scars show only the marks that were made by the one that looks back at me in the mirror. My crackled lips whisper plaintively my sorrows and regrets for the things that escaped my vocal cords.
The things have done I truly regret, but I shall never regret the sense of accomplishment that I feel hanging around my neck like a necklace. I made it this far, because long ago I drop all of my worries into the fire of sensibility. And when I am called back home, I shall lie in that same blazing pit of despair, alongside my misery.