This just doesn't make sense...

Condition of Disrepair

Drain my mind,
here, bleed my tears
my songs of acid,
my wails of gall.

Your eyes are bright
I believe their lies
you push me down
and awkward sounds
confirms that I am dead.

Obsessive compulsive,
shut the door thirteen times;
you'll never come inside.

I eat my nail polish
for no real reason.

Dress me up like a doll.

Poetry by True Words Embellished
Read 721 times
Written on 2005-11-25 at 23:21

Tags Madness 

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I really liked this fragmented piece of anguish.

Strong, bold and beautiful!