PurpleRayRomeo

I choose not to come here anymore, To face this great book of lies, Of sparkles and streamers, and plastic grins And brilliantly backlit eyes; Of trumpets and fanfare, and happy jigs Of trophies of silver and gold; I'll come here no longer to face this great book Until my own story's been told. There is no blank space for my story here - Amidst all of the glitter and light, There are no spare pages for tales of depression And long, mournful cries in the night. There's not a spare line, amongst tales In which each man's a hero, a victor, a king, For stories of villains, of widows and orphans, And caged birds that no longer sing. There are pl

Chasing fire works, fire flies, these fucking lies through urban sprawl and graffiti scrawl, fingers locked, heart thumping in my throat like the bile I can't choke down. It tastes like Vaseline and ashes, a mouthful of proof of my cystic demise. The clumsy stumble roar, beasts with cherry-flavored foam leaking through their teeth, and how much more skin can be chewed from my neck? Skyscraper mazes and the pain-and-memory hazes I live and breathe like it'd literally kill me to let it go. Let it go. Time slips and slides, ice and lies, love-dipped fallacies that hide chrome and Vodka-bottle teeth. Survive for the fig