The Obscure

take you share of diamonds, and take your share of fools. I'll have none of it, I am not one of your kind. Ride your crippled donkey, the past is hidden from you. How much must my memories haunt me? I cannot escape, so tell me, you priest of suburban angst, what precise outlet is allowed for me? What can I do, if only to finally burn the smoldering tinder in my chest? I am your best friend, and because of this, I am close to your heart, within killing range. When the pain get's too large to bear, will I slip my knife between your ribs? or will I push it ever further from me, ever changing myself into melted steel, ever changing my ways into ones foriegn to me? TELL ME, you heartless bastard. Tell me which way on this infinitely broken road to go? Or do I just hop the next bus, and follow the ones I once ignored? When will I be answered, when can I finally sleep, when will the pressure inside my glassy head burst forth and sweep across this town of dead and tired vagrants? My shiny schrapnel slicing through every inch of living meat close to me, and leaving nothing but the slivers of the dead. Someday my arm will sharpen fully, and I'll become a scythe of angels, making dead men out of living ones, cutting a swath of macabre ribbons as I go. TELL ME, you forsaken derelict, you stone god I have created, is the altar I have made for you too small? Must you take everything I have for your cause and leave behind nothing but a broken, weeping shell? I am green speaking, and I am the wintery tin on which the stars sparkle. What am I to do but sit on my porcielan chair and foam out mouth at those who approach me, nothing. It is all sold, it is all done, the mighty powers I once forsook have exacted their toll on me. Now nothing is left but ash and mire, all I can do is clean up the mess of shame and degradation, so no one knows, the truth behind my sparkling silver window.