A pressure to burn
Spilling over, through my eyes
So I run, for a place to find sanction.
And it's dirty, and lonely, and sick,
(just like me)
this is the perfect place
to find my own goD--
the actual one, I don't believe in, but my own personal one,
he uses me for his whims
(he likes to watch me spin and jerk to the tune of hiS
twisted murmurings)
I dig through my bag,
desperate and needy, to find my holY grail
until out it comes, covered in last time's rust
and I grimace,
(the closest to a smile I can manage right now)
and I ready the canvas. and I wait
for a sign
to stop me
to free me
and nothing, no onE comes.

My head is burning, and I am dying,
nothing can be worse than this
so with that last thought, (the same thought every time)
I dig in, with its edge
to find peace
(it comes in the form of a thin red line,
webbing to track the trail
of hiS sick passions.)
and this can't be measured,
the flood of the nothing
I feel that drowns out hiS voice
for a blessed minute, or two
(I don't know, I lose track of time
caught in hiS grip)
and my tears stop
I don't need them now!
I need no one, nothing--
nobody breaks my heart--
and this is ludicrous
how I cannot change my own moods
when necessary
but at the edge of a knife
I find the key to my happiness.
I know he'lL send me straight to
HelL
for cheating the system,
just as I am cheating death,
every second of every day--

I didn't ask for this
I didn't call for hiM
I didn't ask for breath
or life
(was I born against my will?)
and every time I lose a little blood
I become closer to my beginning
closer to unraveling my birth,
and every time my life spills, from the
Thin Red Lines
I am closer to helL
which is where I am already, and where I am destined to be.

and you ask me why I do this to myself,
what was the reason,
and I laugh,
because reasons don't exist, nor does fate, nor love--
but if fate were true
then hE would have me dead before twenty-five--
my blood will run out by then.