One for them. One for me.
The marks engraved so deep,
In my cheeks. They are not ink,
But blood. My blood.
Bloody Tears.
They fall from my eyes,
As I remember,
Those who died,
By the spikes I live by:
Deception, manipulation, treachery;
All come together in a metal wheel.
But not the ones that cling in my hands,
But the one in my mind, that confuses me.
Spins thoughts around,
Leaving me beat. At a loss,
For what's right and what's wrong,
I ask if you've got it memorized
When I don't in the least.
I'm a beast
That cries crimson blood,
The life ink that's faded and grasps to my cheeks
A constant reminder of that damn wheel.
The wheel that controls me. Heck, I'm not bad,
Just confused, don't you see?
I'm not evil, I'm weak.
The spikes tear until they get what they want.
So I cry these Bloody Tears of submission,
To remind myself of this condition,
And even now as I speak,
The blood drips down my cheeks
For you have been fooled once again.
It's the spikes afterall, that win in the end.
000000
HA! Okay, by a show of hands, who REALLY believed, why reading this, that Axel was indeed a prisoner of his mind?
I like this poem a lot. :) It fits him, I think!