Perhaps I was a little late,
Perhaps the silence thickened,
and I ask myself this, everyday.
Was it I, who never listened?
I had reason for what I did,
I’M CRAZY, I’M INSANE,
“He was innocent” they told me,”
“A life here lost in vain”,
Not a mark upon my body,
His throat was painted red,
And numbness was the echo,
of his screams inside my head,
His hands were bare and empty,
I held the sharpened knife,
But he held the chaos in my mind,
The reason he lost his own life,
The wounds I gave him were shallow,
The needles in my brain were tall,
Not a mark upon my body,
As my mind had bore it all/,
shhhh’ I hear somebody,
I feel the fingers on my neck,
He’s alive, I know he’ll come for me.
Or perhaps, another anxiety attack,
I know he stole my sanity from me,
What more can he take back,
No, not a mark upon my body,
But my eyes are painted black.
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