Going High

[VastTouch]

I dunno if you the poems in here have to written while stoned....So yeah, this wasn't. And yes, the going high has a CERTAIN connotation, but it means something diff. So yeah, whaddya think?

Can you see the burning glow
of a soul long lost, never known?
Hate stabs knives into mine heart,
wounds long bleeding,
never receding,
Feeling no end, no start.
Just that continuing infinity,
of circles and déja vu,
makes fear the new.
Fresh.
Such a thing is foreign.
I was destined for circles,
since I was born.
Used for something,
illusion of need,
tossed back again, like trash.
Bleed.
You heard me, Bleed.
Take my hate, and make it work.
Turn to sharp weapons that pierce the spine,
and make muscles spasm and jerk.
"Malfunctioning friend, we can fix that."
I say as I stand, towering over your body.
You cringe, my feet clean on your body,
much like a door mat.
Black tracks of shoes covering your face,
as I laugh and I sneer in all your disgrace.
And then when you cry, and then when you bleed,
Reflections of myself shine in your eyes.
I'm deafened by the cries,
and the screams of the friend.
The wheel spins again.
I'm back where I am.
How can that be?
I made her feel the pain,
the utter torment it is to be me.
Yet, it's all the same.
Something must give,
break the chains and bars that confine,
grant me a life I can live.
There will come a time when
the orbit is gone,
and I will leave,
not clinging, not screaming,
but walking alone.
Head held high and I will not grieve,
not outerly at least.
I'm done, and dead.
And going high.