Portrait Of Rust

I forged a door of shattered smiles
My fingers pierced by splinters of love past
Where there's a door there must be a key
That lets me creep outside these clouds at last.

I am the skin, I am the scar
The fleshy tapestry draped upon the walls
Of my dreams, a sphere of stitches
Barely containing all the storms I bear within.

I hold my breath, plunge into my dreams
A faceless figure sandblasted with rust
Here I'm unborn, here I am safe
Yet to be made a lump of tears and dust.

A thread of metal in my hand
So strangely warm, caught in a grip so cold
Is this salvation? Is this the long awaited end
Of all my torments? Is this a key that I hold?

I stormed outside my hungry eyes
Were opened wider than a gashing wound
And I was blinded yet not by light
But by a shroud of darkness misery and gloom.