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I feel myself slipping into a darkness,
Insurmountable and deadly, but easily overlooked if you can't understand the flock of ravens that makes up my psyche.
It makes it home behind my eyes, and it wants me to bleed myself dry.
Noise, shrill screaming and honest chaos is all I experience as the rings around my eyes grow darker.
If I could, I'd never face the sun again, only lurk beneath the day like scarlet-red sins and dirty money.
I wish I'd died a while ago, and the wildflowers found my corpse before the police. Maybe the wildflowers could use my mortal flesh for a proper purpose, instead of tearing out my eyes like a vulture uses the carcass of another being.
Opinonless birds are like people, they only look for their next meal, or the next thing they can fight.
The difference between me and the birds, are that I only look for things I can fight and cannot change.
Drowining from my horrendous thoughts seems like a sentence to purgatory.
Lovers with tempestuous minds try to float for one another, or keep their heads above water at least.
This life already is purgatory though, time doesn't matter, and neither do I.
~~~
Wherever you are, I hope you're ok, and freeing yourself of a darkness through your own means.
When the orange begins to fry your hair, call me and I'll do something about it.
I'll escape my own life for a few minutes, even if it's to shave your head or find my spirit guide, on this road that goes on for lifetimes as we hitchike between reality and the expansion of the better life above.
Show me how to restoke a fire for life, how to be mad and starving for a new experience that I can gain by wandering away from my mind, and leaving it to sit for an hour or two.
Paint the walls of my mind the most brilliant colours with me, I'll help and laugh as the paint bleeds altogether and creates something awe-inspiring and sparkling.
The ravens will be painted onto the walls, navy blue, and flocking around my frontal lobe.
My crown is made of thorns, and delicate flowers and my necklace is made of the teeth of wrongdoers.
We dance in the space of my mind, holding hands and spinning in circles while wearing grey.
Show me all of the little trinkets you've collected in the world I could only dream of, before jetting away again into my memory.
Nothing could ever beat the feelings I felt when I was drunk on your floor, looking at the ceiling as you looked at me and grinned.
You're an angel, or demon, or whatever you prefer.
Whatever you are, you're saint-like, and you deserve the world that I sadly cannot give you.
One day though, we'll return to the tree and burn a lifetime's worth of incense as we talk about things, nothing particular, as we branch off of conversations and sip battery acid.
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imogen <3
in actual crying tears this is so well fit 3 love kaffy brain mwah mwah