Tied Razor

Without any hybrid names I sing a fragile tone without hymn.
Scattered blindly as the room flows back, and back,
Slapping any face of irony tainted in the posterior fate that once been haunted.
Bells shout as the rope of razors sweetly slices the darkness this empty glass has thirst of,
Reciting binded commodities without hesitating the dried pride that was hammered on.
It's parting,
It's gone,
The endless hallucinations injected through the muscle of the past true love which smiled the nightmares you slept upon.
The pillow's blood thrown sounding the alarm of thin guards known as hope,
or was it a painful laughter I denied as she silently mops every other idealism her book is writing.

Feathered pen tranquilized the sunrise,
chained and locked within the dreams Damien had opened.
A simple tap pointed out this future,
A realization of the heaven painted in the memories,
fake and tasteless,
Reality without life,
A zoo of agony and desperation.

You! Holy savior of my pitiful words,
Forgiveness for the once crying leaves.
As bells hang and snore,
Tomorrow is revealed by a faint smile,
a hole within the locks of the last breath,
A roped razor within the dull shape of reality.