There is a taste
like iron in my mouth.
Like blood
when you split your lip.
It makes me consious of the things ive done.
Like some ghost
haunting me,
forcing me to give in to insanity,
taunting me
with promises of serenity.
But I know if I give in
I'll lose everything ive worked so hard for.
But that taste,
the blood taste,
makes me sit back on that couch again
and lose myself to the silence,
and yearn to be a part of it again.
Yearn for the white light,
for the stars to come closer,
for the world to spin out.