Stockholm's Praise To The Dead

I run my tongue along the serrated edge of reason,
Whispers, under breath, a melancholy misery melody
Soon to be taken from my chest and extorted and
Swept to the eyes of mechanical jaw-dividers.
Frigid dawn licks down my face -
Feeling all but betrayed in the horizon,
Escape is never a freedom, only momentary
Room to breathe.

Face blurred out. White noise, nothing
Is playing on the radio in winter.
I want you to play down my spine and
Rob from me my talent, my release.
A brutal rape scene to be peeled from,
And put together in memorandum solemnity
And the wish, the wish that normality ensued
From denial. Denial fits us all.

I said this was pointless, suck dry my blood and reality
May seem less real for me. I said I was empty
But you knew I was lying to save your pitiful being-
Why don't you just leave me like another broken toy
I'll clatter my parts and albeit offkey sing along,
Alone, till the end days of your childlike menagerie fancies.
Split open the germens and let pour forth -
Taking sense from meaning make it a vivacious truth.

I think I love you.
I think I'm letting myself die.