Mister Mistake-Maker
He woke up to a lullaby of nothing singing: empty sounds like whispered dreaming. The warmth between his shallow thoughts was darling as it danced with lines of lies he'd spoke before. His pillow was full of dreams he dreamed, it held all his deepest thoughts and when he woke he liked to drain it empty. His memories never really made him think, and he never really blinked either. He never really rounded on his thoughts that he never thought were wrong. He played a song of symphony, so phony words would speak from his lips. His heart, it seemed a violinist; his hatred the great composer. His wants were merely what he thought, his needs were satisfied without, his lonely all he really grasped, and not even he was sure of that. He found a way to say what he said, and do what he did without regret. He made it seem like everyone else was guilty, while he alone survived. He marveled at his genius ways until the day he fell; he drank his poison threw it up and stared in disbelief. He found his hands were marked with guilt from all that he had wove, a web of smiles, broken mirrors, and drawers pulled off their tracks. His clothes now torn and tattered when he walked into a room. Now everyone was smiling from the stories they had heard. His shallow thoughts were what he grew in, wading in his so warm water. If only it were more than inches, he'd drown himself under the black mirror surface. And now that he saw what he hadn't accomplished, but punished the one who had trusted him most, he begged for and grovelled a marvelous thought. He asked not for forgiveness or understanding or willingness to accept what he'd done. He asked only to realize he had made a mistake. For that was who he had become. He made mistakes and yet he made them rarely, and was raised to make them right; however, he smiled wide and eyes grew dark, a lullaby in his bitten lip. He grew more empty and more whispered and more and more nothing singing: his sounds. He would make mistakes and make them well and make them so they broke all who listened. He would make decisions for decisions sake and fake his inhibitions. He had none. He knew none. He liked to lie, he liked to cry, he wished to die and end his life before he hurt a person more. He hopes he doesn't hurt one more, but inevitable is his song. He'd sing it loud in showers draining, refraining from the soapy clean. Take his life if you have the chance. He is the rapture. He is the clamoured success of everything you hate and wished to never exist. I am your vital digression into darkness. I am Mister Mistake-Maker. Take me for what I'm worth. Brake me for what I'm worth. Brake my mold. Take my hold. Litter this page with the trash that it is. Just watch your back. There's a killer on the loose. <3333