The ultimate poet (Part 4)

In that spit of a dark room,
Where you lick the steaks of your life,
A lies circulates.
Spoken by an innocent child.

You don't know, you don't care,
You don't want to know what you're thinking,
Because there is no rest
While that private smirk,
You think nocturnal thoughts.
Who are you this week?

You're here to tell your tale,
Sitting naked on that sun bathed bench.
You hold that blade in your hands for years,
You didn't even cleaned the dust off.

It's the fantastic tale of your life.
Few grabbed and cheared for you.
That tear cries, falls and stains
For a love you once felt...

But your heart has no place for you.
Because you don't want it.

Each word of yours is a sword,
A demon,
An angel,
A future,
A wish
That cuts your soul open.

And you swim in that pig's blood.
An icy fire in your glass bones.

You never had to play these games
And you don't want to play anymore.

For now...