It’s Midnight and My eyes burn,

Red with the truth I can only speak when everyone I know is asleep.

Because my demons have always listened better than people.

They are fed by my prayers.

My hands are soaked with the dreams that hurt too much to keep inside,

So I empty my tank;

The pipes of my brain stained and rusted-

Screaming as every drop falls from my mind.

Hopefully for the last time.

And as I sit in my room, I’ll cry.

I’ll cry to forget the things I’ll hide come morning.

My feelings like fine china, placed in the back of the cupboard.

Come morning all my guests would have left.

But til then I’ll shed tears in mixed company.

Remembering every word that broke my heart

For old time’s sake.

As if I owed the past any more of my time.

It has already taken too much.

And in the corner of my room I am a king, dethroned,

A human without a being.

For to be is what I wish to be no longer.

As my hands wet, cannot grasp new lies.

Lies not solid enough to hold with bare heart or bare hands,

and my red eyes cannot see new days without strain.

Have I not already wasted too many dead wishes on waning stars?

Squandered too much ‘self’ on failed selfhood?

It is midnight and I am tired.

But my bed holds no rest.

It is a reservoir of moments gone, a sea alive

So do I toss and turn among the waves?

The force of the crash as strong as unhappy memories.

As clear as shards of glass, broken in my spine.

All my scars are signed by my own hand.

As if I own this body just to destroy it.

It is midnight. The lights are off.

I confess:

I have always craved my own malfunctioning.

By WerepupJeremy