Here I was again,

Soaked in my own vile,

Of altramentous silhouettes ,

That displayed themselves prudishly,

Yet graceless and valiant ,

On this deceitful wall of insincerity,

Again , tonight,

I was prodded and sculpted,

Harsh and rude,

Into those fancy silvery moulds,

As my fractured bones and femur potrude against my scarlet dermis,

Prominently displaying themselves,

Broken and bruised,

Beneath this tiffany teardrops,

This obnoxious shades of crimson liquids,

Were made to feel so real

And lightweight,

That I didn't realize were coursing down my coarse

Porcelain fingers,

On that rough , wounded surface.

Blotting through them subsequently,

But I wasn't numb,

Or so I was told,

I was still breathing

When the air raced into my lungs,

And When this rusty crap still beat to its own rhythm,

As they gradually cracked ,

They filled the void of silence,

Friday, 5 September, 2014 12:31:35 AM