Killing Loneliness With A Coal Heart

***My mind has developed writer's block.
Here's some random suicidal thoughts...***

Trespassing on the creases in time,
where footsteps leave cracks in skin,
and tears would trickle down faceless mannequins;
they pray to blow-up dolls I pinned to crosses.

I hide in closets for the embrace of the boogeyman,
my blankets are cold as night and bleed the names of stars,
which were once forgotten and shoved into the depths of me.
And happiness, the chain-link fence,
electrical and placed so I can't climb the Stairs to Heaven,
that would only crumble into poisonous dust beneath my steps.

We'll pray to God;
for him to fall from the skies slowly changing to shades of grey,
a metamorphosis of depressed butterflies,
and would this God give me his wings,
carrying me to a fairytale in which the fat lady finally sings
though of course I could never live upto a superstar,
beauty is a price too high and an arm's length too far.

These women kiss me a hundred times,
but only in a troubled sleep;
I wake up to a rotting pile of dreams
craving more from a fantasy that drips with the fragrance
of the impossible fusion of matter. (I mean, sex...)

Love, I'd pull you closer,
and strangle you with my poetic arms;
with which I'd scribble how much I love you, all over your heart.
It seems like serial killer art,
touched by tips of insanity,
but it's simply loneliness at it's best;
Suppose I took down those blow-up dolls,
and pleased them with the burning crosses. ('Cause they don't cut it for me...)