Every bit of chaos in my heart and head
I bleed onto the paper
Begging it to take everything
And it drinks in absolute thirst
Comes to life from my chaos
Thriving on it
Words grinning a mad glint
Like they are on fire
But the singing flames give them happiness
They take and take
Until I am empty again
And white noise in the black abyss
Is all gray of peace
But the paper beseechs yet
Calls to give my gray
Says it will smear colours
Maybe I get greedy
I pour out the blankness
It scoffs, demands even
But I have nothing to offer
Though still a hunger to sate
Till there's ink where there was red
And my gray-calm has dripped onto it
Hair in hands, trying to sever its hold
But there's a glimpse of my madness in its veins after all
I gave life to this mutant staring back at me
I am born of that dregs, it whispers
I took your pain, I numbed you into the blank high
All the while burning in your blood
Take blame, it says, feed me, keep me alive
Guilt, that this is born of my heart
So, I try to bring colours
They evaporate the second they are imprisoned in a word.
Poison! It screams
All that's false and forced, it kills me
What pain do I nurture you with?
When you have drained it every time it festered in my veins
You, so accustomed to being stained
Yet cannot take a colour apart from misery
Why are you alive only when I dye you with that white noise?
That black abyss?
Why does everything else seem false and dying?
Why do you not take happiness when I have so much to offer?
"You", you stir weakly in my thoughts as an answer
"Because this was all I ever was to you.
Someone to save you over and over
Because you saw beauty in this
You twisted source of my life
And now I seem ugly to you."
A final murmur, before nestling back into your tomb
I call to you now, but that fire is long gone
I scourge around in the embers trying to rekindle the spark
All I have to show are singed hands
And words dwindling into the whirlpools of my blood
I wish you were birthed out of something else
So now I bring you to life
Word by word, my monster
Hoping you would be an angel
So I am no longer Frankenstein
And you, you are my poem.