Brittany Alexis Murphy

Schizophrenic Psycho Conscience Suicide - Poem by Brittany Alexis Murphy

I sit here alone, and I'm waiting.
Your face will soon appear, and I'll hear your hisses as you come near.
Your rumbling skin will brush against mine, and I hear your bones cracking underneath.
Your choking breath gets hot as you seek.
Your abusing me, but it feels free.
You slide away, and I begin to cry.
'Please don't go! ' I'll scream, yet you smile that perfect smile of yours, and you close your eyes like it's actually going to be alright.
I'm here again, shaking alone. It's so cold without you here.
Bang my head against, just to lure you into my room once again.
You feast upon the freshly-made blood that drips from the holes in my walls.
You sneer away, is it not enough?
Possess me to do more, and I'll begin to peel.
All I crave for is for you to push me against my Will.
Turn the music up as loud as it will go, smirk because I am the director of the show.
Touch the rusted edge of the blade to my skin..
Burn the marks and let it cave farther in.
This is perfect, I think.
I lay there patiently, praying for the uncomfortable aura you form,
Waiting to hear the sliding against the floor you make.
You hover over me, whisper in my ear.
'Perfection is an illusion my dear.'
I want to die, because I didn't please.
Rip them open again, and get your heart's feed.

I told my mother of you, today.
She said I was lying, and that I am good for nothing anyway.
If I could prove to her and everyone, I would.
I know your real, I know what I should.
It's dusk now, and I grow excited when I hear your growls.
This is our routine, our little secret, your white inhuman body, a dream.
You do nothing but hurt to see,
to see if it feels that good to me.
Your leaving again, I grab for you and crawl to a stand,
and my heart almost breaks when your air skin slips through my hands.
This can't go another night, I say.
I give what you want, but I can never win.
You urge me to continue, destroy my life without even considering my other options to do.
You make everything seem okay, but you just wanted to play.
No one believed me, did they?
They said that it's just a stage I'm stuck in,
that I'm not ready to see the end.
Lock myself away in my room.
I am the butterfly, with no cacoon.
Once more, a glance to window and try to realize, but..
I'll no longer be in touch with the outside,

I'm Schizophrenic, and I'm psycho to follow my conscience to a Suicide.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 8, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, December 9, 2011

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