The Inkblots of Death

By Crashoverride

I don't even know you
And it really doesn't matter
For I am just an ignorant child
Looking to feel flattered
It's all about me but I hate it
I hate the process as well as the self it's directed at
I don't think I'm not good enough
I know it
And every moment I'm alive I show it
Tattoo it on the front of my head
So that everyone can see
Maybe then I'll wake up the dead
I just wish to matter to something that will stay in my heart
The sum of all things is only something falling apart
That's what things do
They die
While I walk forever
Without looking at the time
I wish that I could open myself up just to show you what's inside
Some try to do it with the razor blades to stop the pain
I choose the needles and ink and I'm not ashamed
For who I am is not who I'm destined to be
As I once saw in the wall of that tank
I know as I have before, one day I will release and be free

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2016 Crashoverride
Published on Sunday, December 4, 2016.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "The Inkblots of Death"

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  • TropicalSnowstorm On Sunday, December 4, 2016, TropicalSnowstorm (1580)By person wrote:

    "For who I am is not who I'm destined to be" - I like how that line floats in the midst of this piece like a hope, remembered and out context, but remembered nonetheless. Interesting piece! Ciao, T/S Scholar

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