It's a cold fuel
That feeds my ferocity.
Lingering and burning just below my skin
And seeping ever deeper, ever cleaner,
Driving and burrowing and softly lulling me to impulse.
These last shadows that ripple from the chink of light beneath the door,
These tired wisps of exhalation and tiny shredded balls of moth-eaten deceit
That linger underneath this bed, are ecstasy.
All of them alien and alone and unconfusable.
You have left me cold.
An aching cold that burns and catches light within the
screaming hollow of my innards.
An untouchable rage that scalds like ice shards.
There is no heat here. Just empty, cold malice.
"Why does your brain not shut off?"
It never sleeps. Not when my eyes are closed, and i am vacant
To this version of reality that something has created.
That is merely another door shut
To a world I can't control and can't abide.
Into one my brain creates. Restless.
Its listing and swooping and snaring itself in the torrent whispers of the world.
Not refreshing, or a rest bite.
My mind cannot distract itself during "sleep" - is that why I avoid it?
Programmed to save myself in this fabricated world
To keep from falling into a real one.
Besides at 2am, 3am, 4am the birds are still singing
5am the milkman slips in and out of the road
and 6am the waves overtake me and a few hours of restless, torturous
comatose reality greet me.
The world won't stay still long enough to keep sane,
Or to let me catch my breath.
So I'm running twice as fast
And leaving pieces of me to mark a way back that I will never take,
And burning blood to enjoy its sweet metallic stench
The corners are always amendable.
No matter how fast I sew them up, a split occurs somewhere else.
My breath is collecting at the closed window.
Open just a crack, and it will swoop and billow out,
Crackling with the static it creates when it catches on the curtains.
The curtains don't go with this room.
There are burn marks on the carpet, and the door is stained with damp
From being trapped beneath the eaves in the attic.
Impaled with the chasse of my baby pram,
Eaten away by mildew and an acrid smelling rust.
And my hands are red.
My skin still pale and itchy
Red ridges burning.
Its like some wicked lullaby
My hair is matted. And lank.
Face drawn.
My body bulging in the wrong places,
And sinking between my ribs and bones.
Malnourish skeleton.
Belching up poison from what I cannot hold down.
My bitterness is blocking out the food.
Stained sheets, red and white and sticky from decrepit
Acts of lust and sin.
And every thrust built up the pressure, and flooded me
With cold. Cold, damp assurance
That there was nothing sure about this world.
Liar.
Liar.
And when I catch up with you,
I'm going to slice your limbs and peel your bones
And drink with satisfaction
From your bloated stomach.
And maybe the acid can quench the sores in mine.
I watch you sleep in my dreams.
Plucking out hairs and forcing them into your eyes.
Piercing through the cornea and rupturing your pupils.
See what its like now?
Do you never see me in the corner?
Do you never feel the prickle?
That's what happens when lies catch up with you.
If you had a taste of real torment, you wouldn't last a second.
I'll give you eternity.
And a head start.
Trickle out some of this terrible, empty hatred.
That hits the air and fizzes 'til I want to scream.
Its still better than feeling nothing.
And the balls of sopping tissue underneath the bed feed the monsters there.
The mirror is tilted.
Smashed, and still the faceted reflection cannot hide me, nor show
How many parts to me there are.
You didn't lie.
You told me that this wasn't going to go away.
No potential fulfilled.
Just a constant drone of numb, unbearable - nothing.
No control, forever.
I am not your liability.
I am your equal.
Your better.
I embrace this state one minute for its productivity - creativity.
And disown it the next while it destroys me and the short life I've collected,
In scraps and bits and loose ends.
Tied together by a desperate need to show a better face,
And the crippling despair when the strong facade is broken.
[nobody should ever see it]
Anything outside the door is evil and alien.
And I can hear your whispers.
Lies about me.
Does it make you feel better?
Look better?
How could anyone possibly see in here.
I tasted what you never tasted.
I won when you only lost.
And you hate it.
And that is delicious.
Waking sticky in a pool of your blood,
Licking clean.
If you stopped for just one moment.
You'd realise I lose for so many other reasons.
Let the sunlight chink in the through the window.
Not refreshed. Not awake.
But back in this world.
And slowly burning the fuel.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
should check mine out 
Kissing
Take care,
