...

As I open my eyes, I feel the dark blood smudged vaguely over my face,
I wash it off, but the color stays.
If burns often, and often caresses me,
Sometimes wonderful like a friend, often treacherous like a fiend.

I do not wish the demons go away, they give me the strength to sustain,
Almost like the sea of joy, they wash me ashore, only to take me back within.
And I do not struggle, only wait with a dead, dull anticipation,
A lost battle, a hope long lost.

No one sees the blood on me, on my ugly wrinkled hands, in my hair, all over me,
And I continue to be invisible.
Savouring the bitterness within, and not-so-surprisingly enjoying it too,
I exist still, invisible to past, present and unknown to the future.
I hold my own hand, and guide myself,
Into the promised land, into nothingness.