Monarchy Behind The Trigger

Here I am. broken again. against the chipped walls. here in this place, chalkboard rebellions reign. its comatose but it keeps them sane. their cancer in remission, and I'm just another anthem written. written like the words on my wrists. they mean nothing to you. I've been used symbolically with 'disaster' and 'tragedy'. they've never found the miscreant. the enemy lies somewhere between our eyes and the keyhole, we push our head closer, just to get a good look at another youth-filled travesty. been used for nihilistic needs, lacking aesthetically, memories and torment the driving force behind my extinction.iam what you have created, an abomination, an atrocity. but the more you put me, the cancer into remission, is the more you cry for attention. I've seen this every time you've pushed me to my knees. I've been shrouded in your disease for far too long, nullifying the pain with prosthetics and rusted lungs. I've screamed my heart out, lungs full of blood collapse onto a broken; splintering ribcage torn away, and the abiotic shreds of a broken icon lie somewhere in this mess that was caused by a head-on collision with empty romances and broken-legged dances. I've spoke more than you've ever heard, choked on words you will enver learn, and asphyxiated on diversity in the subtlest way imaginable.
Tangible was found this morning hanging six inches above its bed. time passes still even after the sanity of this community has been dead. paper hearts folded to paper planes and got stuck in trees somewhere between euphoria and acriomony. every asper reverie was turned to reality and laced with a bullet. the sun betrayed me today, and left me with another reason not to stay. I've written thousands of 'what ifs' and 'sincerely yours'. my thoughts residing somewhere between the dislexic acts of sexists and racists. it's a shame isn't it? the way orthodox continues to rot on broken thoughts and suicidal tendencies. oh its heresy that I pulled this on all of you, and it's a tragedy what you pulled on me.
"It's not your fault" runs in full circles. and iam left with shredded wrists. pray for me, or is your deity lost in the sky somewhere. I hope this emblem burns a cross into my neck, so you can see just exactly what I'am the martyr for.
I'm a martyr for a cause, and a cause for concern. you've cried for relevance but you still havent learned- you aren't the heroes, you are the miscreant.
And the blood runs down my back, and you know I wouldve found it funny and I think I wouldve laughed... but now I'm colder than your heart, colder than anything you've ever said to me. you pushed me to my knees and put this gun to my head. much like I did to you. but you spoke metaphorically, and I speak the truth.
So tomorrow when you see that empty chair, I hope you cry for hours. because when that tear hits your hair, you'll wish me away, pretend I didn't take the people you considered your family. I hope you know, they didn't love you, they fade away with fashion. they cashed in what you thought of them for pennies they threw to fountains. I hope it brings up scars as large as mountains. you know I was never good at telling you exactly how I feel. I'm afraid your sheer poetry. you caused the demise that ended the life of a dozen children who never quite seen with their own eyes. they were somehow corroded, by some sort of erosion that makes being blind a trip to paradise.
The tempest storms over your windows as if it knew you were guilty, and craving your own destruction. its as if the raindrops are tears, and your one among them. these tears limit you when you find out its only drizziling. your storm of the night sky was some forlorn dream of perfection and desire were shot down as they flew by. one thing ill never understand is how you nursed it back to life. clipped its wings and still let it fly. I hate the way the concealer bleeds from your eyes. your pupils streaming down wasted life. I miss you where I am, even if you never said a word to me. a lot like dying trees, as they wither away from summer with winters blasphemy. they know its coming, but they still push themselves and never resort to running away. it's the rush it gives me, when I knew I slipped through your fingers, and I'm crushed by his fist. I hate the way he always seems to control you and hurt you, but you stay by him because hes beautiful.
Your the hammer that flung this bullet through the hearts and minds of everything we wanted to be. I tried so hard, but I didn't pull this trigger. I swear I just closed my eyes and hoped the one who got in the pathway of this bullet breathed their last sigh of life thinking about whom they love the most. this is romance you know. the way we mourn life even at our death. you know I'm not sorry, and I don't want you to forget everything I couldve done for you.
But here you are broke (along with me) . emotion has finally tied its finger around neck. it won't let you go just yet, put your back to this tapestry, and watch as blood paints misery and beauty all in some sort of amalgamation of self loathing and self regret. all I ever wanted you was to remember my name. and in this moment, where you watch your life as a movie, flash against the wall, the story's repeating, and were lost in the fall of flesh. REMEMBER ME, REMEMBER ME. DARLING YOU NEVER BLINK YOUR EYES AT ME.
Your ashes are scattered at sea. mine are buried six feet deep.