Potter's field

May 30 2010

My beliefs have died in a graveyard.
and so I am eaten up by nothing.
I will sit in a church,
unmoved, unaffected and untouched,
sarcastically begging the heavens to save me.
My demons, such beautiful distractions,
this is what they have done to me.
This is what you have done to me.
They still own every part of me.
They love me, haunt me,
betray me, adore me,
and regenerate me every dying day.
So my flesh can rot,
and my blood can trace the rivers,
because they will all laugh at this later.
There is no reason to be angry anymore.
There is nothing to weep
about the dead dying another thousand times.
The flowers will need watering,
and the final hit will cause such turbulence,
but I won't blame anyone else.
My dreams are buried in a graveyard,
and you buried them,
so I never want you to hold me.
Don't pity me for your own benefit.
The loneliness, it never existed.
I will sit in your foolish heart,
unashamed, unremorseful, unpenitent,
and I will slice any leftover feelings.
My demons, they are like painful memories,
they have trouble leaving,
and who I am without them
is a question unanswered.
Their love will run out one day, I know it,
but I am burning out on both ends.