The colours of these vivid dreams I've seen have beckoned my thoughts. Slow silhouettes are haunting my shadows. Only for me to find my mind at different pace of repressive meaning. I'm here, left to make my own world out of the disdained ruins the demons have created for me. I remain subtle, yet anxious to find myself in the loss of my receding life. The voices are yearning to scream for another's drop off blood, while my angels are singing for the flesh. Each so decisively vast, but both remain the same in my mind. The lights have dimmed over the years each time I cried for help. But the words seem to become more known outside of my vicinity. As I veer off into the darkness of my soul, I reveal the worst. If I bleed red, maybe it won't seem so bad. If bleed truth, maybe you'll see me for me. But if these scars are the only definition you need to know in my past. Then please let me bleed. The escape seems unseen, but the shadows are the only thing that matter to me now. The knife I know is a friend of mine. He always seemed to care. He gave me what I wanted, he gave me change when my heart would tear. I look in the mirror and I see no difference, so I break my skin exchange.
