A Beginning to Every End
As I ascend up the stairs to my door of falling floors, into my coffin of ceiling stars, I drain my great depression of false painted hearts, I watch the television like the eyes of a zombie, aimless, dead alive, I think about my day, and these dreams may they descend, I strive for tears, but my eyes have drained down the sink where I brush my teeth, take a shower, comb my hair, stare in the mirror, and wonder what I'm doing here. As I sleep under beds with a lack of air to my despair, locked in this room of nothing soon to be, I thought something great, a blooming place where I may escape, into the flowered forest where I hang from a tree, May I find myself dead, cold and blue, with a suicide novel crumbled in my pockets and sleeves, a hangman where you guess the letters, blemished ink from the rain, an elegant book of my life story all withered from weather, un-readable, I've been lost for days swinging side to side with the wind and my bride dressed black outside, I wake up and I drive in circles picking poisons, park my car under shooting stars, and the cycle starts all over again, sunrise, sunset, There is a beginning to every end.
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