self // constrict

I have anchors in my veins
And little red balloons
Tied up in my heart strings.

I put them there myself,
Tasting something.

I keep chasing after wings,
But every feather singes
And sends me to the grave.

I sit like books upon my shelf,
Gathering dust.

What happened to the brave ones,
The prince-will-save-the-princess ones,
All the hero-gets-the-girl ones? 

I stay inside my head,
Feeding sickness.

I wear a mask to hide my face,
The bleeding circles you could trace.
I stay awake to steal the space;

I fear the night may take my place.


Leave a Reply

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

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

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s