Classroom Blacks and Blues

Fingertip of cold steel,
so lifeless, just how I feel.
Concrete veins,
dripping metallic slivers of irony;
the insults feel like one long dead pun.

I inhale shards of sympathy,
static eulogies written by bullets,
a kick-start to loneliness.
My heart is a mockery of popularity,
eroded and cracked,
bleeding leftovers of childhood through the barrel of a revolver.

Spitting gasoline,
on my self-esteem,
it's a black Christmas in the classroom
but Santa's just a hallucination.
What's your name again?
I ask only 'cause I know you lie to yourself,
so why not to me?

Watch them paint their faces on,
carnival of self loathing,
where the clowns are only ever crying.
Watch them cut their faces off,
smiling at self mutilation,
trying to bleed away the humiliation.

Barefoot down the hallways of mirrors;
a thousand eyes of cracked glass
cut you up,
like some kind of emotional gangster.
It's bedtime in this wooden desk,
hidden torment burning away,
all the nice things your mother told you to ever say.