Staind Mouth

I stain my mouth with lies to cover up the blood,
They seal there secrets away underneath forked tongues,
Sell them to the first buyers for trinkets and bobbles,
The most eager of shadows that feed off there grief,
I hide mine through painted smiles and practiced laughter.

The wind carries sounds of whispers to steal the innocence,
The agony of the child with no voice, with no choice,
Steal away and run through the feilds, eclipsed by a black moon,
These types of memories wash away,
of ghost and of goblins,
of things that go bump in the night,
of quiet screams and fragile life.

But they do not wash away for me,
like cheap silver that bleeds into copper.
I am still the follish child,
hideing under a blanket waiting eagerly for mournings light.
These spectors still haunt me,
These demonds still taunt me,
and yet I continue to stain my mouth,
To look the other way,
And to ignore the sold secrets coming my way.

Fin

Slit my wrist, my throat, anything to make the pain leave. But surly, you think I'm joking...but you don't understand.
How can I force into your mind the shadow that constantly eclipses my life?
Just spill the blood, a crimson drowning, block the screams, say to poetic'ness of "nevermore" hear it ring, the meaning so fowl to grasp, yet so rewarding to win.
These words don't make sence, but neither do my thoughts, what you read is whats in my mind, but yet I still hold back the dark corners that spread when no one is looking, behind your back black eyes seeth with agony, when your not listening I open my mouth to yell angst dripping with volotile redemption...but when you see me infront of you, you see the great and fantastic act I have performed night after night, the stage has become my home, the props I use my sheild...and when the red curtain closes, the rawring audiance doesn't hear my crys, the fall to the floor, the knashing teeth, or the scratching of the floor boreds.
Bravo you say...Fin I say.

idk

I want to make things fit again, like how they use to when I was a child. But even then I look back and think how little of a window I was given for a actual "child hood".
I want the people to wear the masks again for me like when I was smaller, so I wouldn't see there ugly faces, hide in fear of there knashing teeth and forked tongues. Now I ignore it with what little dignity you can, but I still feel the need to hide every now and then.
I want my memories back, of what happines in its truest concentrated form really feels like. I want the peace of mind knowing someday I will feel the breez of distant shores. I want the simple thought that at one point money will not be a striving issue, and I can enjoy things I never have before.
I want to lay my head down tonight, feel the warmth of a body next to me, not worrying about other peoples problems, but my own.