Door Nr. Seven

[EuchridEucrow]

This is a poem, or really just a mass of obscure thoughts, that was written when I was in a very tired mood. I wasn't inspired in any degree, had no great ideas or appeals to begin with, so figured I'd write about that feeling which itself bares no strength whatsoever and is as hollow and pointless as the rest of the stuff.

In here I’m my own cannibal
I don’t need you now
I’d love to be more than an animal
But I just don’t know how

What was once my arm
Is now a bloody pulp
Dripping with scarlet
Teardrops

I touch the wood
I try to breathe
But every time I move
I fall asleep

Every plan I make
Go up in fire
And there is no pill
That’ll take me higher

So I do
Something stupid
I lean on you
And I slip

Leaving a room
Of emptiness
Dreaming a dream
But find no rest

I’m so tired to sleep
Yes I hate what I’ve become
Yes I know you told me
You were right all along

Every time I move aside
I drift further into the dream
All those useless lies
All of my sad little schemes

This is door nr. Seven
This is my numb goodbye
If I don’t live forever
I won’t ever die