Crimson

And I'm walking on all these razors, bleeding from the outside in.

Every step another slice, another morning spent wondering how to begin.

Do you think if I knew who laid this field of brutal snares that I would stand back and let them win?

Not a chance.

Would I remain idle as the ones who shattered this mirror escaped with their meticulous plans?

No way in hell.

But pieces of hell find their way out,
I can taste their seasoning-- it's the growing tang of iron in my mouth.

So many eyes seem to follow as I walk,
They watch, they wonder, they doubt,
as I grit my teeth and then simply bite down.

Bright smiles and curious faces,
My mouth fills with blood, but I don't dare make a sound.

There's so much that could be said, and yet my words would be garbled,
So don't hunt me for the answers, you well-intentioned bloodhounds.

Always standing in the middle,
A choking devil's advocate,
How does my body ache so much when my heart feels so little?

Thoughts racing -- to plan, to pray,
How can I make all the eyes see what I see?
There must be a way.
But Lord, my vision tints crimson now,
And my bones grow more brittle by the day.

So I keep my mind under lock and key, because my pathetic belief in control was the only belief that I allowed.
Swallowing the deepest red,
Because I couldn't be weaker,
Because I couldn't be more proud.

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