Syndrome
 

The suicide ghost
The bullet wound
Still dripping, still dripping
Is afraid of the nurses
It's okay, she says
Over here, over on this side
The other side of what
Dull edged razors
Can still cut
It's all etherial
Can still cut
But the blood is
Is still real still
Real still red
Still
She's afraid
Of the nurses
The communion of the mad
One cup of synthesis
Pills, red, blue, white
One cup to push them in
Water two parts chlorine
One part ash
White washed walls
No colors to abstract the mind
To tease the thoughts
No movement of our machines
I sawed my arm
With the Queen of spades
While no one was watching
Will the man in the johnny
Babbled in Jesus about
Salvation
I drank cardboard orange juice
While a man in white
Asked me in chicanery
If I was okay
If this was okay
Are we okay today, miss?
My lips were lying
While the battered body
Of the Queen of Spades
Lay silently on the floor
She wouldn't speak for me
Nor would the others win
Solitaire
Is this scary enough
I ask you now
This momemnt
When you're confused
Will she?
Won't she?
The gun under inside the burreau
The sun over the ocean
The drive down to the limit
Or the drive down to the limit
Is this scary enough
The thoughts that lie behind you
Around you
The things that you can't see
The urges and impulses
The ghost of the suicide
Her voice reassuring
It doesn't hurt
You can do it again
And again
Release

lovely

people don't use the word "chicanery" enough:)

*Dons Elvis voice* Ahhh thank-ee...thank-ee vury much.

Nah...it's a venter. I just put it here 'cuz I never write anything here, mainly because I never write anything dark.