It's much easier to write them love letters
Than to say what's truly wrong
It's much easier to hold them
And hope they feel the same inside
It's much easier to turn a blind eye
Because it's much easier to love someone
Than constantly find their faults

Its much easier to hold onto joy
Than only ever listen to the chiming of the sorrow filled gong

Because it's much easier to wear your heart on your sleeve
Its much easier to be the one who gives
Rather than the one to receive

we are the masters of self-destruction
trying to numb the pain with wine
and drugs
and smoke filling up our lungs,
we write down in lines with no rhyme
all the things
that make our souls burn and die.
our poems bleed
we drink their blood
then we write again,
listening to stupid songs all night
wishing sometimes we were deaf
wishing we were dead.
we let the doors open
anyone with a knife can come inside
cutting our hearts in half,
any tear is welcome
to create the ocean around us
in which we deliberately drown ourselves.
masters of self-destruction,
our bodies are temples where dying souls hide,
we run till our legs are broken
jump off cliffs
go between sharks' cheeks
forgetting to sleep
to dream
we bleed
we drink
we love
and hurt
it's a madmen game we play
each day
laughing hysterically
while slowly taking steps to the graves
we dug for ourselves,
the masters of self-destruction we are
lunatics
worshiping what's not for us to adore
crying
hiding
falling again
and again.
legs broken,
hearts cut and eaten
flesh ripped from our bones
lungs full of water
ears burnt
our eyes scream
but that's fine
'cause we are the masters of self-destruction
and our life is just a mad game

For hours, I tried to sleep.
The rain drums down on the tin roof;
the demons are knocking.
I see their tears stream down the window;
a cleverly designed artifice to distract
from their true intent.
I ignore their subtle attacks, but they always
find a way back in.
I watch their shadows drift in through
the windows;
morphing from one shape into another,
hovering around me,
their whispered breaths cloud the air –
there is barely a space unfilled by their presence.
I can’t seem to chase them away, and I’m
wrapped up into their world.
Empty, cold and alone,
my reality remains stranger than any dream.

© Sia Jane