Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Cry of an Injected Mind

The torrent of blood is once more oozing out;
I don’t know am I stabbed or a diseased soul;
I don’t know why I don’t want it to clot;
Can you tell me dear, why my lips don’t shout?
Don’t they feel the pain of pain I feel?
Why do they look thunderstruck within-
I don’t know this strange language of dumb
And I don’t know its willingly mute thrill!

Oh look at those nails hammered in my flesh-
I’m no Jesus and so you won’t get my grace;
I want to curse you dear from my deepest core
But I don’t know why my soul and I still bless.
I shout at my silly-polite forgiving self;
My disloyal lips revolt against me once again
And my shout dries out before it’s born;
So I can’t help the rebel in me, I fail to help.

Blue toxin is spreading in me like a bonfire;
Is it stronger than the most lethal venom?
I’m burning in the fire of self annihilation
And my affliction is getting higher and higher.
There lies a frozen lake of time in my reach-
Why don’t I pick a cube to rub on my burns?
I don’t know why, willingly I suffer by and
My unbuttoned cut juicy skin cries for a stitch!

It’s like dying every second, time and again;
Hey take up this deadly axe and hit my skull,
I’m ready to feel the pleasure of extreme pain;
Don’t fear of my response or muscle to regain.
Stab me, slice me and leave my wounds to rot-
Smells of decay won’t kiss your thirsty throat,
Cry of my injected mind won’t steal your rest;
I’m in anaesthesia, consciousness tied in a knot.


-littleWriter

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