Junk:
White horse gallops through steel shafts
which pierce your flesh
. . . . punctures your vein
and tunnels into bloodstream
(This is you)
Your eyes slowly close
. . . . your body dangles
and your gentle casualties
slip through the fingers of an uneven god.
Your body sways into excess
your mind drifts away like a white leaf
trailing along the tops of a slow moving stream,
and all that holds you back
is hypnotized by your synthetic paradise.
You cannot depend on this kingdom you live in.
There are too many shattered windows
. . . . Some, which were broken from those who try to get in
. . . . and others, which were shattered
from those who scream to get out.
(This is you)
Still screaming
Still playing the victim
Still lost in the insanity
. . . . of your pincushion paradise
The Written Addiction 