bleeding pens (_buffalosoldier) wrote in vibrant_ink,
bleeding pens

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not hollywood

Don’t let it happen again, don’t reach out, leave your pale arms, with the lines that make them stare, in your sleeve. Close the door and walk away. Standing in front of the manmade self-destructor, look at yourself; what you let yourself become. The trips "to think in nature" were not enough, your perfected lies unravelling, just a kiss on the lips, the dirty water framed by pure white clean porcelain. Close the lid on the truth, you cannot slip any further; the noises must remain but the smirk of satisfaction glares out gaudy & casually thrown out to slap you in the face. Wash the hands, the instrument to enforce the obsession out of your stomach, run the water, hotter, let it boil. Grab those blue pills, throw them down, dry-retching brings back the taste you know so well, pour the brown liquid straight up & swallow, letting the blue calm flow down. One last glance at what you hate; and the keys cutting into your hand go unnoticed as you watch yourself from a distance. Walk to the black vehicle that lets yourself, the outer being everyone looks at [oh they think they hide their judgements & disgust so well] get left behind like the dust off the wheels flying in the gust of wind you create. You stomp your foot down, on the flight, on all the shit you trod through. Your hand reaches out, the sleeve moving, but you don’t care anymore, this gesture is to change the stick up their arse, change the path, crossover the line that marks the road. Go faster, fly by the scenery you used to treasure & capture on rectangle glossy paper to please others. You get further & further from yourself. The tangibility is gone, the world & everything it’s made of, what you are disintegrates into tiny pieces, there is no view that makes sense, this is not Hollywood, a novel nor reality-controlled television. If only you could control where your view was from, you might have seen the curveball thrown your way, in your path as the screams beneath your foot [just like yours that are inside when it all begins; just like a mute’s anguish, fear & need to be heard & saved when being personally violated & rid of innocence] are as real but public to the world & the silence left by the nothingness surrounding you.

030804 | 2321
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