Walking down the disconsolate streets of "home",
the shadows of a disturbed mind wander.
Only in the crevices of these darkened thoughts,
does this boy feel emotions for what they really are.
The blood runs thick through each slash taken,
and by noon, he lies face down,
covered in the red liquid that he once held internally.
Grasping for one last word as he lies,
abused, beaten, murdered by his own hand,
all that is managed to be choked out is his own insides.
Not one last curse, not one last breath,
a dying soul cried out tonight.
Haunted by the painful words that creep through his mind,
and each excruciating laughter brings him closer to breaking point,
he screams, lying bloody on the bathroom floor:
"Why can't you hear me? Why can't I feel this?"
He screams tonight, he dies tonight, all for the loneliness in his black, unfeeling heart.
A bathtub lined in the blood of his own,
the knife, used and numb at his foot,
blurred red handprints on white walls...
from this view, the trigger is not just a fabricated dream.
At this point, the trigger is the only thing that is real.
Choking out his insides from his own transparent body,
each thought and feeling lay in pieces,
splattered against walls,
lying in puddles on bathroom floors.
He prays that this self-inflicted torture will last for eternity,
the cuts on his beautiful skin and his blood-soaked corpse make him feel alive at last.
Haunted by the painful words that creep through his mind,
and each excruciating laughter brings him closer to breaking point,
he screams, lying bloody on the bathroom floor:
"Why can;t you hear me? Why can;t I feel this?"
He screams tonight, he dies tonight, all for the loneliness in his black, unfeeling heart.
With blood, he writes himself a poem on the kitchen wall,
no longer feeling weighed down from the pressures and the loneliness.
One last thought was all it'd take,
one last slash would finalize this beauty of death.
He sees himself as ridding the world of yet another disgusting human being.
In his final moments, he will reach deep down inside of himself,
grip his empty heart, and crush it's walls as it splatters against his insides.
A self-mutilated body will lie tonight,
under a dark sky that will never again shine the same.
The blood will dry and become just a memory,
each moment in a pathetic life is forgotten.
But it is to never fade away.
Every hurting soul should lie tonight,
together, bleeding under night skies.
Together, we will rid the world of human beings through mass suicide.
Tonight, it is to be sure that every soul lies mutilated from a painful death.
Only then, will the true beauty of this planet surface from beneath the darkness...
--IcyFire
**5/22/03
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