#48 - Fork Lair
My hate is crimson hands-
Blood-soaked from back-stab lacerations.
But jade venom from my fingers
will bring forth your swift annihilation.
As it trickles down my nails-
Newfound ink with which my heart wails-
Writing lines once, twice, thrice:
That will slice through your husk of ice.
I see you in your skin,
And long to tear at it viciously.
And expose the truth beneath,
So that everyone may see.
No doubt you lose your composure,
Because you fear your own exposure
Y’know, I’d turn scarlet too-
If I did as you do, were as transparent as you.
My hate has long hair,
Used to hide the Medusean snakes beneath.
I’ll watch it flutter to the floor,
As she bites through it- grinds her teeth.
Shining false pyrite, framing her face-
More like prison bars, due to her lack of grace.
And I beg for it to be set ablaze,
Melt in all kinds of ways, when you gaze upon this phrase.
And when she cries,
I want desperately to be the reason why.
Or at the very least,
I wish to witness it, and be close by.
What jealousy has enrapt her now?
Or has she broken yet another vow?
After all, we are not close-
To her, I am naught but a ghost.
Someone you pretend not to see,
But know that there I will always be, to relish in your agony.
Her moods are faulty and predictable,
Brought forth when she needs attention.
A shallow attempt to garner love-
And try to steal her unearned affection.
She is a tree that cannot be sapped,
Long since run dry- though never once tapped.
Hollow on the inside, a victim of decay-
Her existence casting gray over each and every day.
She is everything I aspire not to be,
A thief hiding behind maternity skirts,
Liberated in that she pays no mind-
To whom she affects or whom she hurts.
I am chained by my disbelief-
That someone I thought I knew turned such a leaf.
But then again, there really isn’t much surprise-
After all, your empty rebellion cries were simply a disguise.
But for all my untold hate,
There is a respect I must confess.
For without her self-destruction-
I wouldn’t be writing all this mess. (Or would I?)
About how you reap from other’s pockets
And your eyes are emerald sockets-
For the power that’s left you blind-
Pursuing a voice you’ll never find.
Thankfully, I can say
Her destiny lies within the stars.
In the hands of Karma herself,
Who will deal her back dealt scars.
And though my ink is running out,
I know my voice will persist- echo about.
Like a spectre with one simple want-
To daunt you and observe your torment as I haunt.
How you pretended you were true-
But we all knew- it was always about YOU.
~Ramblings Of A Crazy Man, #48 (Fork Lair)
