Corrupt Crimson

July 26, 2011
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Remains of stares piercing

Memories of innocence stained with

new crayola color: corrupt crimson.

Done. Now.

Look me in the eye.

And try to say no.

Look me in the eye.

And try to stop me.

While I stop you.

In your tracks.

Make you TAKE that step back.


And look at me.


On top of the world.

My way lit.

By fallen stars never wished upon.

On roads less traveled by.

My way lit.

By broken hearts taped together.

On paths worn and worse for wear.

My way lit bright

By shattered dreams

Like shattered vases

Meant to be put back together

In the wrong order

Like puzzle pieces

In a maze.

Like game pieces in the game of life.

My life.

In my hands.

I have the controller now.

Not hazed behind computer screens

Or who knows what video game.

This is no game.

Wake up and smell it.

The sweet red rose of reality.

Wake up, sweetheart.

Cold water dousing you

With my back turned

While I start my climb

This is no game.

This is a mountain.

Climbing higher.

Watch me reach the top

While you’re still waking up

And it’s one in the afternoon

And you’re still waking up

To the sweet red rose smell.

Of reality.

While I’m nearing the top.

I’m on top.

One hundred percent ME.

And I’m free.

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