Escalate

This heart is beating outside it's realm,

on the floor, dirty and weak.

It's pumping ever so slow,

and slowly deteriorating.

A gush of blood squirting all over the walls,

making out a sign of loss.

It stopped for awhile, a short while,

your hoping that it was the end.

But it was not the case,

it never was.

It expanded rapidly,

and exploded into many more bits and pieces.

Suddenly everything turns black,

as you found out that those parts belongs to you.

Murder Scene

Picking up the splattered flesh on the walls, the floors, the furniture,

cleaning the mess from a blood bath,

the eye out of it's socket, the arms out it's body, the brain out of it's skull.

For sometimes I thought it was intact but it wasn't.

Understanding its reasons but never to be understood.

Maybe this is the only way it can be clear, understood, processed,

through death be my own.

Years worth of therapy

Every problem is an easy problem to solve in hindsight.

Shit.