Stream 2: Demonic Screeches of 'Freak!'

The whispers of "she scares me,"

Run through the webs of thought,

Inside my bruising mind,

The demonic screeches of "Freak!"

Resonate, I can still feel the technicolour claws,

Drawing blood, scraping the first layer of flesh,

Their metamorphosis has yet to begin,

Mine has already ended,

A blood-black butterfly in the mist,

"What's wrong with you???"

To which I scream back,

"What's wrong with you???"

I wish the jagged, bitten, slivers of nail,

Would elongate into talons of steel,

So that I could gouge pale blue eyes from 'perfect' face,

I wish the weeping scabs would heal,

So that the chlorine and ice,

Wouldn't poison and burn,

Like a lake of frozen acid,

The rusted halo was a noose,

Slipped over my head and scarred neck,

By people who think they care,

Psychoanalyse, euthanize, dead inside,

Expurgated version, new model number 667,

Contaminate, society-transmitted-diseases,

Run screaming through the maze of living dead,

If I let one bite me, all is lost,

Everything I've fought to keep, erased, wiped disc,

Those things, like me, lie in unmarked graves,

Marble angels fall like dominoes,

Cracked wings splinter like bones, choked by ivy,

Heart and soul darken like ink, bleed, wither, rot,

All that's left to do is lie, down, close my eyes and die.



The End

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