Bleed dry Scribbled down on Monday, 5 September 2005 20:42:22 PM
Blood is a nice word and it's a nice thing too. Maybe the nicest thing of life I held joy in. Playing with blood, instead of those kids who sit playing with sand and building sandcastles. I hoped to create a masterpiece (artwork) but I've never bled enough and nor am I an artist. Another poem, laugh if you like (I never make sense or am boring too, yes) or go silent. I am with you. (P.S: I had to use a diccionary to translate the Dutch words into English, don't think I'm smart or that I'm an idiot, I'm no English). Breathing in and out can not refresh memories that are stuck in my braincells creating a personal hell none can see to understand I want to dissect myself from throat to navel and bleed dry till the state of void In hope to become apathy himself a hom-dai-ed wight or an aged body a skeleton conversion of nothingness simplified as nameless Resulting into an abnormality a daily system far from sanity But everything this felon feels is a classification of the surreal Still it would've been disposed of all that's been seen with chilling eyes And that what was considered beauty, what of a loss would that be? If the chance existed the end, we called death would not leave one single memory intact Rereading it, I kind of like it... Written yesterday while I was feeling so sick. I was trying to figure a type of mummy and remembered the Hom-Dai curse from the Mummy movie. *smiles* I liked that movie, in case you wonder what that is. I'm not sure if it's a true Egyptian curse (of the old ways/days). If I knew I wouldn't remember today, my mind is so oblivious. It's a punishment and well, I wish that upon myself.

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