It's blood on my tongue.
Fizzy and full of memories.
I've been stuck in a dream
Where the sky loops,
Grey. Black. Grey. Black.
Grey
Then fucking
Black.
Until it blended into some
Liminal horror graveyard
Where ambition is a sickness.
I am sick,
A thing of color
In a circus of grey.
That makes me a freak,
Something that stands
In front of a mindless audience,
Swallows their laughs,
Evokes their pity.
I am a thing unseen.
A prismatic optical illusion.
I don't exist,
Can't exist.
Not underneath the clouds
And the crowds humiliate me,
String me out,
Paint me like a clown,
And dream of feathering me
Because there is nothing so funny
As the soul
Convinced
That its neon lights matter
In the middle of a circus of grey.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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