All Hope is Gone

I met the serial killer inside my head. 
I wonder who the next unwitting victim will be
unaware of the game that to him is....killing me.
Well, I am unwilling, to agree.
I'll kill him instead, I'm not worried.
What a sin.​ "When I return from death," he said...
"I'll be a monarch butterfly." and I laughed.

Seemed so innocent, so crass.

I'm not sure. That was just a theory.
the femme fatale. It's just not my style.
I could never hurt anyone...well I might...
I'm insured after all.

I think he's a killer, but I'm unsure... 
is that an offense to make...
I've got lots of them, like I have an entire collection...
these hearts I break.

whispers as careless and cold as their meanings
hollow breathing, under these debated beatings,
Nearing no semblance of anything....but one facade
of a homicidal freak ​the monotone metronome 
pulsating, charade, the gut wrenching, truth...

She cried. "This is the science of
imagination, torn apart her heart's broken
bleeding lunatic's delirious game." 
Now they're in his head.
Am I to blame?

Chattering, clawing, I slept next to him...
with a hatchet by the bed...I'm insane, forget,
falling..I'm crawling...on my knees. Sweet Jesus.
Gasping for air, gasping for pleasure...please?
Dis-eased. Maybe I'm insane. Probably.
How am I not dead? How am I not dead? There
are serial killers in my head. Help me!

Satan is my lover, she said beneath the covers
and then I softly cry, wishing away the irony,
She lays under the moonlight, praying he'll stop
I[mean] torturing her memories
with false effigies that are secretly eulogies
fucking tragedies.

that only became diseases in the end...red roses...
this sickening pretentious psychosis
To pretend, as I split into those
characterizations of better premonition of prognosis...
for a false diagnosis of suffering.
this time...it's a crime...to keep on taunting,
before it's too late. And I become the same
monster in the mirror, I'm still here. Dear.
Why am I still here? Damned if I do. And if I don't.
I'll disappear...in a glamorous ghost,
condemned. Lovers.

The one in my dreams, who won't go away

I wish I was before I was let go, let go let ...him slip 
out the door, what a trip...Oh no. I know. 
What to do...you can blow me.
Let her go. Let's go, oh no. Revenge will be mine
some day....any way.. I have forgotten how to pray...

No no. No no. My affliction is this addiction
to dangerous corners and virtual realities
my love was an encryption you could not hack
When science has forbidden what's forgotten...
can't come back because my heart turned black. 
My mind cracked...again.

This is a crime...
I must be special. I must be a bad-ass in
all my sadness a black widow.
I should be made the guilty one.

They think it's fun. And now they refuse to go...
like spiders spinning, insiders, conning their way 
around and twisting pretenses..
round again and again, tying these
gossamer threads, infiltrate my existence
this unfiltered alteration of resistance 
until I am alone and defenseless.

Wrapped around my head, choking my insight 
and inspiration so listless and vapid this discontent
a whole new continent for the contenders...
they're making promises for me to break them. 
Inciting violent pain, emotional strains,
These pretenders. These country-less men.

Spinning webs inside my head, eating the dreams that now are
gone to bed, sleeping, waiting for the time it's alright
to play these games outside, repeatedly, 
cursing my frustration...
Against a brick wall, he bangs his head...Pretty soon
he'll be brain-dead and on the moon. Truly.
listen to your voices and realize that our choices...
were infinite, possibly this is all you 
and I will ever have, either way. No excuses.