The prison I’m held in, seated and still,
Upon my wheelchair,
But it’s so comfortable,
I can’t be bothered to move.

Looking out of the windows near,
Everything seems so desolate and queer,
Leaves falling and crushing into the ground,
By their own weight, like me, spiralling down.

I’m just too lazy,
To look for my suicide.
It’s coming to me anyway,
With the fake, pale smiles.

The arms I have hurt from broken veins,
Hiding snakes with pierced holes.
The eyes I have sting from lack of sleep,
And here comes my suicide.

She’s dressed in white and
Adorned in small mouth movements.
I can’t listen, I don’t want to,
She breaks the snakes again, and again.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s