Wicked Paradise

My inspiration sometimes comes in life experiences instead of my crazy imagination.

My soul will live forever
While my skin dies
With each passing day,
And as the day melts away
I escape sleep to avoid the sacred fantasy.
The magnificent beauty of promises,
And I’m blind to the lie.
Like a ghost god,
I’m bound to the night
With no home and no luck,
And the symbol of my emotion
Is trapped here.
Spread out with ink and verse,
On a paper easily torn in two,
Just like my wretched heart.
Is this an absurd mess,
Or a psychedelic masterpiece?
Am I capturing my genius?
With a raw shard of your soul,
You slice and stab at the core of me,
And I am cut by the wild thrill that kills.
Too fresh to heal,
Yet too old to scar,
But you poke at the wound,
And poor salt upon it,
But I never waste a scream,
And you will not hear my pain
As it seeps from my mouth
In silent sobs.
No, this pain is mine.
You will not have it,
Nor take it,
And I will not give it to you.
It is for me to cherish,
And you to wish you could capture it.
I savor my hurt,
For it lets me know I’m real
And this is not just a nightmare
Anymore.
This is my wicked paradise.

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy it.