Traumatic times and violent blows;
Hidden secrets that nobody knows.
I sleep eyes-open, hands always fisted.
I guess you could say that my mind is twisted.
Some say I’m demonic.
I can’t always remember;
I’m loaded up on narcotics.
So wired anxious
I shut down, enclose.
I have so many secrets
I’ll never expose.
I take meds because
I’m sick in the head.
I swear to be crazy
to the day of my death.
I’m wise beyond your wildest dreams.
Happiness is just a scary thing.
I try to show people that I am gifted,
but all they see is that I’m dark and twisted.
I’m running down
the dimly-lit corridors
with extra-padded walls
and outside-locked doors.
Heavy on my brain.
I fell way off my rocker;
to the extreme.
Self-harm is pleasure, it’s what I need.
Sometimes I lie and let myself bleed.
No, I’m not dead; My mind has just drifted.
I can’t help that I’m so sick and so twisted.