Shards of a Dirty Heart Diving into a pool of extra-thin blood the streams of which divide death from life. And in the sorrowful lake of empathy a little hairless baby lies. It's socketed eyeholes bear a shuddering shake that you shiver off from nerves. Its vain attempt of breath is but a cold inhalation, whilst a fire rages screams behind the pillars of yellow sulphur, doomed cat calls, yelps of life snatched away. Each licking flame caressses caressses hissing with a vagrant stitch. Sharp attacks and bubbling skin, the baby lies in gloopy haemoglobin. Gradual gradual eating away at ....stuff gentle destruction as pyro pries the family away.. I look on, grinning in my twisted car, smirking through my sordid brain. No way will the monsters touch my heart again ------------------------- aloof, along a dirttrack road and memories of flickering lights pass my brain and the cracking sky. Rain tries to fall in spatterings smatterings. Tarnishing the vision I drive along in my cold-hearted journey. People stare people stare my car crumpled by a ditch frozen with a grey cardy on. Shivering by a munching hill, with rabbits jumping. How i wish to kill their scrawny necks.. There a pastor sits with a table of drooping flowers, what a wuss! He caught my eye and winced how dare he weirdo. Some part of me wants to catch those petalled heads and crush... Though strides later i'm scared to talk some petrifying force holds me back, yet again some frequent pulse is in my head and heart perhaps. Those flashes of carnage childhood memories of suffocating penitrating love and then. then i ran. But they caught me, I hid. But they found me, I killed. But they haunt me. "Dry your eyes child" Softer than the expected glare No pastor do I see but a withered man in purple new rocks. A corny smile and raven hair half parted apart.. and a crusty voice with warmth. His smile chills me. Too close too close, his words are innocence indeed- "would you buy a flower madam?" Do i dare risk it? IT's not just a flower anymore, but acceptance. I ran away from beauty, I with my crumpled looks, disfigured like some whoreish goblin. Bitter as a sick sick heart attack that spat me, like blood, out. People are allergic to me, they have to be. But he, that guy in purple shoes... he was the first person to call me madam, and look me in the eyes. Verging on the surreal i took the flower and held its wilting form to my face, airing in its scent of lovely heaven, the pastor smiled and was no longer there. I'm left on a street that's turning green... Click click, the sound of trolleys and medecine dark and shut my eyes at first, opened to the mental hospital in disguise. and a flower in my hand.
This one is about a psychotic woman who is physical disfigured and feels suffocated by her family and is in a mental hospital. And she's a little bit crazy. comments greatly appreciated.
