sadness rolls in
on clouds of iridescent onyx
glittering with too much red
and blue falling like the springs of eyes
pooling beneath
reflecting the black expanse
of starless, sightless sky
and frigid, heavy air
all around
closing in
i've never been claustrophobic
but then there are nights such as these

sadness rattles my fragile windowpanes
it's the wrath, the thunder of your words
my head, my heart
explodes like lightning's fire
and glass must always shatter
trees of scribbled ink burn
sometimes I think I cry enough rain
to quench unrelenting firestorms
but then there are nights such as these

i've always wondered
what holds me back
from cold silver slices
across unscarred veins
but one thing I've learned
is that wounds carved
onto canvasses of porcelain skin
will never compare to all I can break inside
when I let myself in
the shattering and ravaging
the anguished shrieks of me unrestrained
only occur in the silent eye
of the lonely alone storm

no one can see the shrapnel,
the broken aftermath edges
that will be tread upon for years to come
these words are double edged
and blades are so dull
scars fade into pure, white lines
remnants, memories of the darkest of times
wrists can only cry tears of crimson
because the heart's purpose
is to allow us to bleed

alone with inner demons
deaf to weakening pleas,
are we alive or dead
on nights such as these