I Have a Mouth, But I Cannot Scream.
I wasn’t born, I merely came to be, this wasn’t the world I had sought
Caged inside of this monotony, my flowers smell like eternal rot
All I’ve ever known is this empty, breathing in this musty, poisonous smog
Watching the misery bleed through every crack in these gray, foyer walls
I take my seat amongst the familiar, the table set with the same dishes and cutlery
I take a deep breath and submerge my lips in the sea of this black, pungent tea
Used to count the days that passed, the walls ran out of room at forty six hundred weeks
Every day I wake up and follow the same pattern, a prisoner of this redundancy
Until i wind up sitting in this same seat as always, is that destiny’s doing?
The others in attendance are but skeletons...i look down at my peach hands, I guess that I’m human
The only thing misplaced here is the makeshift window in front of the table, sawed mid-wall to the floor
It’s a portal to another dimension, where I marvel at the marble decor
Arches and pillars branched across the showroom that any artist would adore
An abstract jungle that anyone with adventure in their heart can come explore..
I find solace in this window chalk full of alternate realities
Infinite possibilities, where it’s more than alright to fall out routine
And if I could move my frozen limbs, I’d make a dive for the glass pane
I’d crumble up the memories of this past life and make them dance with ash and flame
But alas, I’m stuck inside this cage, forced to stomach despair
Each passersby of the otherworld stop mid stride to pass their judgments and stare
They critically rub their chin, crack a grin and find amusement in my pain
I’d smile back if I could for the irony of their beautiful disdain
They call me “gothic” “dark” “a masterpiece!” They praise my creator’s brush
Yes the painter ...so focused on alleviating his tortured soul, he never realized he created one
Is this a museum Or mausoleum? Well it’s all the same to me
Because I can’t decay, I am forever engraved in history, I will never seize to be
At the people’s beck and call for criticism, I only wish I could rest my head and sleep
And the biggest irony? You crafted two pale lips on me, well aware that..
I could never scream.
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