Okay, Okay, Okay Go

Pain and Death are lovers                you see                                                but                                                      pain won't mention death always    She will, only once.

For once and for all

And poetry and murder are lovers too,

but not every song is murderously painful.

except the ones that 

your pen, pens. 

My grief:

I can see butchered heads, when am sad.

I can put my hand in the burning furnace of our ending stash.

How are the tunes I play?

You don't care about my violin.

It wails.

Don't you see the parallels?

Playing the violin and 

killing myself?

The more I play,

the more I die a little everyday.

don't you hear the grief?

my violin and me ?

How much were you paid,

to turn yourself into someone else?

The mask you wore-

oh, how real

Was that worth it all?

I believe you suffer too.

I believe you regret it too.

I believe you are busy,

painting me the villain.

I won't deny,where is the lie?

I am,what you made me.

I am your Frankenstein 

And I believe,

I turned you into,

an even uglier monster.

And I believe,

I made you see my pain.

And I hope,

you have suffered.

The exact same death as me.

The exact same rebirth as me.

We are monsters.

We sacrificed for love.

We are monsters.

We pray for our death.

We are the monsters, we made.

The monsters that trace the lanes

of the 4th street.

Terrorizes the C block.

Haunts the parking lot.

Waits uphill for the prey.

Buys the mint candy to soothe 

the blood-drained throat.

The monsters with clogged throats

praying for love, 

praying for the pain to end

praying for everything to end.

© jessika