i see through broken glasses,as i sit on my hands in silencei open my mouth and out come the ashesmy hands are under pressure, but so are diamondsi swear someone's pushing me down,my neck is hurtingthey told me princesses, whilst looking on the ground, wear their crownmy neck is burningwith the idiosyncrasy at the tip of my tongue,and the rest of the world on top of my shoulders,i rest my sunken eyes shut and breathe with my tampered lungthe air is getting colderwith only a pinch of forgiveness left,i release my hands from my weightand as i do so, i feel a weight drop in my chesti sit up straight
Listen,I promise, you are the only oneListen,I promise, you are the only one in my heartThere's no one to love,there's no one to likeIn a dystopian worldwhere no one's aliveIn a town where the cars,are as empty as your heartDon't tell me what to do,Don't tell me what to thinkI am your only optionDustcovers my eyes and see nothing but darknessDust
I'vebeen searching far and widein the forest, in the darkest of nightswhy, they told me to follow the lightthat is supposed to shinethrough my eyesI'venot found a single soulin the wilderness of this worldthey told me I look like a wolfin the woodsout of the pack I was pushedwhat they don't see, is that I'm blindwhat they don't see, is that I might'vegiven upor so I thought
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.