I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to make hairs stand, and then curl

Cowardly back to the warm neck.

Fear is powerful: and my batteries are dead.

Left to the side, suffocated by dried blood.

Scraping the rust is futile, and will only drown the mind in it's dead sight.

The sight of apathetic eyes.  Those eyes.  Those big blues.

The big blue, not matter how wide: There is no diving.

So dive in.

 

I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to know the corner of that room.

There is a door: Try hide behind it;

But it is a door that cannot be locked,

A door that cannot be trusted,

Cracks at the summer breeze, and shatters at the zealous zephyr.

 

I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to know the blood will only turn orange,

And the scars cannot be completely removed.

The door will be painted white - over the crimson that released

The torture within: Only to be mistrusted once more.

 

I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to know that a body still lays:  lifeless, deformed, mangled

In its own misery.  Behind the white door.

A body still lays with its hand in its mouth

Opening scabs from pointed front teeth.

The crimson river overflows drowning the spirit.

It rusts: trapping the soul inside.

 

I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to know the body is dead.

Enough to say: The body is dead!

Shout: The body has been dead!

Scream: The body dies each and every night!

Each and every night.

Limbs of the once rooted tree now belong in a child's game of pick-up-sticks.

I won't be a sore loser, I promise.

No one wants to play with me.

Only - with - me.

 

I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to know the white door does not hold,

Yet hope leads the ignorant back.  Back to the glossy red.

Dark red - Dark glossy red flesh hanging from a gash across a bruised chest.

The bruised chest that once held a heart

Now diverged from solitude into a populous hell of torment.

 

I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to know the hands which pried open the caged chest

And reached in carelessly to snatch the heart inside

Left behind.

Left behind were pieces of torn tissue and broken bones.

Broken bones with jagged edges - They pierce the open flesh.

Release.

Release of more crimson river systems

To drown all that has not yet died.

 

I may not know much - But I know enough.

Enough to know you cannot kill what is already dead.

So continue without fear.

No use crying over spilt blood.

Just ignore that orange stain.

Paint the door white once more.

For the dead cannot speak.

 

 

© 2006