I take the quote "Keep friends close, enemies closer" to heart.
Have a mocha joe,
it's cold and chilling.
and should set the mood,
for the massacre to come.
Thoughts are like a swirl of colors
that are flashing, like a strobe light.
"I'm going to puke."
The fire is dead, flames are gone.
They are left as embers, floating in the wind.
We exchange looks of conformity,
it's obvious we've given in, given up and
have become another mindless pupil
to the idiotic, seething mass.
It's not quite kool-aid time though.
Instead, let's play a friendly game of russian roulette.
Go on, let loooooooooooose.
Put your finger on that trigger.
My senses are heightened, it's obvious
you have fallen for the trap.
Your palm grasps the gun, finger coats the trigger.
It's time for your mindless brain to send the message,
and let it drop to the floor.
You don't deserve life anyway, you worthless ragdoll.
Another death is nothing but another victim.
Another attack, another bleeding.
Luckily though, the guards caught me, and made me down my pill.
I'll be successful next time.
*Note, make sure you read the poem itself, before read this.
Hopefully you caught what the poem was about. It's seemingly about a murder even though I left the ending pretty obvious. This poem is about dual personalitys, and attempted sucide while trapt in a psychward. So, keep that in mind when you decide to feed. Thanks.
-Nathics.
