Laying in the corner,
Of an off circular world.
The black lakes of everything you’ve come to know,
Divulge themselves in trickling motions,
Meaning nothing to those who don’t see.
It’s like a blank knife,
Carving with it a life of anything it can steal onto it’s greyish blade,
Which writes itself into oblivion.
You saw the night it came,
And couldn’t escape.
It branded you as it’s own,
Raised you like a disturbed child,
In a world that you didn’t know anyone else belonged to.
Until you were blinded enough to think,
The tarnished blade was perfection;
But It was not happiness.
At this, you groped for something more – a life that didn’t drag you through dust
and make you grovel at the feet
of those who had the power
to control you.
You fought them for the right to feel the stars in your heart.
All those beautiful broken minds and damaged hearts it engulfed like fire;
You took the lot and watched them burn.
Watched them burn with a passion that wasn’t yours, but was everyone else’s.
And you took a handful of ash, and sprinkled it on another.
Doused them with all you knew, all you’d learnt and everything your arms had died for.
Everything your walls had fallen for.
Everything your glass had shattered for.
And you made them see, that off circular world in which they were lost,
Was not all they had left.
They had whatever they wanted,
But they were just too blinded to see.