Mental Torture

Catching the colours as they fade to black,
I want to melt with them,
but they only push me back,
I wish they could accept me,
I hate the taste of pain,
I’ve already had a lifetime,
I hardly feel the strain.

My heart has left for good,
I begged for it’s return,
I hate picking at this wound,
at the tail ends of flesh I burn.

If I could blame it,
I would,
but that finger won’t leave my eye,
screaming in my face,
Its all “I” “eye” “I”.

I hate to be the one to moan,
so I sewed my mouthy lips,
imagine listening to yourself,
taking one and two word fits.

I sit the empty puppet,
and carve the eyes and smiley face,
I wait to hear a scream,
in these actions I could trace.

I seem to have been here before,
I know it wasn’t after,
this dryness of the bones,
and his stupid manic laughter.

I hate these fingers down the face,
these scartching chewed up ends,
I asked for them removed,
from my crazy injecting friends.

I like to keep my eyes,
settled on that glass,
I’m sure I’ll move to that next scene,
when my keepers share the pass.

I can never know whats happening,
or when this found a start,
I wish to snap the viens,
and give back the stolen parts.

It’s fine, I’ll stay right here,
really wanting out,
slicing at this hacked up flesh,
inside I scream and shout…..

Mental Torture

Spraven

Dumbarton, Scotland, United Kingdom

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 9

Artist's Description

A man in cell, one of which is padded. This is a poem from his mind, a bit confusing and weirdly sad…..

Artwork Comments

  • Julialala
  • Spraven
  • colorblind
  • Spraven
  • butchart
  • Spraven
  • Erika .
  • Spraven
  • Spraven
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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