Dipped in Green

My fingers are dipped in green.

Paint made of the toxic sludge

Of burning hope's smoke and caffeine.

I seem to think the devil won't judge

If I can distract his wandering eyes

With a flash and a surprise.

.

It's never worked and I doubt it will

But it gives me something to do,

Some way to find some time to kill.

If I don't kill it, time will fill my heart with rue

Until there is nothing left but to sit

In the dark sorrow with a razor and...quit.

.

Because I'm hungry for the toxicity,

Starving for the simplicity

Of toxic green sludge poisoning my veins,

Colouring my ribbons red and making these chains

Rusted, useless, and dangerous on my wrists

In the same way it melts my wits.

.

My fingers are dipped in the green of some

Last ditch effort to slip away and become numb.

The grey clouds above beckon.

This coldness has turned me into a weapon

Eager to go home where the sky doesn't sing

And I'm nothing more than a dead king.

.