Slow Death

Creeps, crept, creeping into the psychosis.
Normality no longer seems, normal.
Locked in a basement room while tearing the hair from my scalp.
My teeth grinding while the grains fall down my throat.
My brain is on fire, melting down everything I knew was true
The pieces of love are turning into fire and stone
the vizard I wear protects me from the outside,
Though the dreadful dreaming of dictators controlling my choices leaves me with a noose around my neck and a chair kicked out of the way.
Lying silently on the grey grass carpet while the only thing that moves are the shadows.

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