11-17-2013, 05:15 PM
I'm sure you'll have lots to work with here. Again, I'm not too sure about the title and the ending.
--------------------------------------------
I hate sleeping.
Laying for hours in silence,
being tortured by the cacophony
of thoughts of failure and of what
I've left behind us.
But there is no 'us' because
I've burned too many bridges.
The moonlight through my window
perfectly illuminates the colourful
portraits of regrets I've painted.
I become assaulted by the
Should haves
Would haves
Could haves.
Have what?
Every day I live on this foreign land
I become buffeted by acid rain and
I become eroded like a cheap statue of clay.
I speak the language, and I fit the part.
But I'm the new plot of "Monsters from Mars",
and I'm stranded because NASA doesn't have
the funding.
I hate waking up,
facing the Man in the mirror
like I'm in the ring staring down the Devil.
But the roles are reversed in this fight.
I'm the demon.
My reflection's the victim.
His eyes are black and swollen from shadows of doubt.
I look at the skin that's already been stretched to thin
it's cracking at the edges.
He begs me to stop, but I can't
because I'm a coward.
And I can't stand looking into his
eyes anymore because I got told I
had my mother's eyes and I can't
stand the disappointment.
So I sit for hours and
daydream of the time
when I surrender.
--------------------------------------------
I hate sleeping.
Laying for hours in silence,
being tortured by the cacophony
of thoughts of failure and of what
I've left behind us.
But there is no 'us' because
I've burned too many bridges.
The moonlight through my window
perfectly illuminates the colourful
portraits of regrets I've painted.
I become assaulted by the
Should haves
Would haves
Could haves.
Have what?
Every day I live on this foreign land
I become buffeted by acid rain and
I become eroded like a cheap statue of clay.
I speak the language, and I fit the part.
But I'm the new plot of "Monsters from Mars",
and I'm stranded because NASA doesn't have
the funding.
I hate waking up,
facing the Man in the mirror
like I'm in the ring staring down the Devil.
But the roles are reversed in this fight.
I'm the demon.
My reflection's the victim.
His eyes are black and swollen from shadows of doubt.
I look at the skin that's already been stretched to thin
it's cracking at the edges.
He begs me to stop, but I can't
because I'm a coward.
And I can't stand looking into his
eyes anymore because I got told I
had my mother's eyes and I can't
stand the disappointment.
So I sit for hours and
daydream of the time
when I surrender.