Bloodjunkie Poem by King Midas

Watch her thrash and scratch her throat
Like a worthless junkie who overdosed
Watch her struggle between ecstasy and pain

Inside are voices who are never heard
She shuns everyone without a word
She wears a crown of thorns atop a mutilated brain

Clawing and scratching at her skin
Desperate for help for her struggle within
Everything she ever touches fails

Every night she spins a knife
And contemplates taking her life
Trying to determine what is truly hell

Acting out her broken dreams
Her past and her future, and things in between
A possessed saint atop imagined fires

Sanity hangs from a minuscule string
A ready made burned offering
For a muse who ties the wire

Into a knot so perfectly tight
For a noose of the night
She weeps and mourns for her

But she’s still gone
As she has been for so long
So long even she’s not sure