murderpoem

… The truth that,

my blood is black,

my heart a stone,

my face made of paper-

and you´ve rewritten me,

written all over me.

Your words, your ideas,

your damn will…

Every time you etch my skin

with your dreams…

You´ll find me quietly,

writing insane laughter,

and hot tears, silhouettes –

of rage, passion, and murder.

But, if I´m not killing you…

who did I slay then?

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pic: White Mask, ArtofAviya, DeviantArt