Just a quick poem, covering Gamzee's mental state during his sobriety. Obviously, I don't own Homestuck. This is my first fan-anything in a long time, so reviews are always appreciated, and constructive criticism is more than welcome c:
The bipolar performer simply stares
Killing his worries and his cares on a
Stage of his own twisted design
Stray thoughts are maimed and bathed in wine
Colored blood, smells of roses
Decayed, and bound in chains by the frayed remains
Of his mind, memories he'll never unfind,
Terror, he dreads that he'll never be blind
To the horros, oh fame, they're calling his name,
A shattered mockery of man, he'll never reclaim
What was his, and he'll fizz, froath, and foam
At the mouth, a clone, gilded chrome,
Spiraling south
Of sanity,
Vanity
Disguise, under white
Fingers-made mask he covers the plight
That it is to be him, what it is to fight
The grim
Demons that whisper and whistle at night
That demand and command and repurpose his dreams
"Go go go on, go on," and he screams
And slashes, he thrashes, he tears at the seams
Of his clothes, because they're in the threads, too
They're everywhere, in his hair and his nails and his shoes
Just waiting, and he cries 'til he thinks that he's
Safe, when it's late, he gets down on his knees
And gives thanks for one day
Of good chances, of sweet turns of fate
That have spared his friends, and then prays
For relief, for the voices to subside, to spare him the grief
Of rising in fear of the sun in the sky, fear
That tomorrow another will die
And he'll once again have to sleep soaked through with wine
And live with the relentless guilt of his crimes,
That he'll have to wake up and smile again,
Suffer sobriety and vainly pretend
That he's fine, that nothing's amiss,
That there are no bodies and his head hasn't split,
He grovels for one last chance at respite,
And pleads for the strength to take his own life.