Is there a worse form of torture than a mental such?


As I slowly lose my mind

My straitjacket is soaked in blood

I can't harm myself anymore
you took that pleasure away from me
the day you told them my darkest secrets
and made them
come for me, my soul

Yet, my straitjacket is soaked in blood

I can't hear my heart anymore
you ripped it out of my chest away from me
the day you told them I was going mad
and made them
lock me up, alone

Now my straitjacket is soaked in blood

I can't feel the dark anymore
you took my senses away from me
the day you told them how I spoke
and made them
take my tongue, my voice

And my straitjacket is soaked in blood...



Poetry by Little Miss Sorrow
Read 509 times
Written on 2009-05-29 at 19:53

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