My heart stretched out on the wings of a phoenix,
I live so I can die, so I can live again, so my flames can be warmth to new skin that I shall wear,
My smile is but a trumpet blown till my lungs surrender to the lack of oxygen,
The end is nigh, the end is nigh! But you do not hear it, you hear a sweet symphony,
oh, sweet child, how you’ve become nothing to everyone and everything to everyone but only for an instance, only when you’re needed,
how your mind has become a theatre,
death upon death, prewritten, you, your own executioner,
hush.
can you hear it? When you glimpse at a rope, or a blade laying seductively on the counter or when you walk too close to a bridge that’s high enough,
can you hear it? A mother’s call “my child, you’ve suffered, come onto me and know peace”
My smile is but a trumpet blown till my lungs surrender to the lack of oxygen,
My end is nigh, my end is nigh!
Let me die so I can be reborn again,
.
