And isn’t this just the dream come true

-----------------------------------------------

So cut me open,

I n v e s t i g a t e,

(since you were so curious)

But all you’ll get for your trouble is

A fistful of whatever it is

I buried (wanted to lose).

Some gift.

Red-gore fingertips, stained-black puddles on the floor, and

Man-made self-mutilation,

Because this is my reward,

For pulling past the curtain and asking

Why?

Four-pointed loaded question,

Razor-blade friendly hell, because

They say

That it’s a gift you should

want,

Fame and fortune and

Dragging i m m o r t a l i t y

Obviously they don’t have it

(a sad fact that you can’t preach what you know)

Otherwise they wouldn’t sell the half-image,

The false and

Sugar-coated, slick-bladed sweetness,

All the good and(hiding)the bad.

It’s a nice image to live by,

If you can find it.

If it’s not your li(f)e, then

it must be a pleasant,

close-eyed daydream,

Something to deny the day its monotony—

Maybe you’ll even try it out.

(not that it matters, because failure won’t knock you back a step)

But sometimes you delve in for real;

(see? The ocean is deep and foreboding, after all)

And then you get: confusion.

: anger

: fear

: and l a c k of d e p t h

You get all the four-letter words,

You get denial(devotion)dissatisfaction

And the culmination:

The skies are burning as they close over your head,

And what wouldn’t you do to give it up?

Are you done p r o b i n g yet?

That reaching black darkness,

(because sometimes it’s hardest to see in the light)

drowning, muck in your lungs,

Heaven Forbid you don’t find that one phrase.

But the worst is always

that weight that matters to no one:

(but you)

The fine line’s been long-ago shattered,

And there’s only so many chances you can take,

Jumping back and forth,

Bordering one side, bordering the other,

Before you

cut yourself

On the glass in between.

Finished?

Yeah. I thought so.

Better stitch that hole back up.

After all,

Madness is infectious.

(and really, that’s no more a tragedy then is

satisfaction—so known for being e l u s i v e)

---

AN-- this poem was chewed, swallowed, and spit back out by fp. it looks NOTHING like it's supposed to. if anyone's curiose as to the INTENDED look (because in a poem that can make all the difference) feel free to e-mail me.

there is a meaning behind this one, but feel free to come up with one of your own anyway n.n.