Museum:
Hey guys come in from the rain.
Welcome to the museum up here in Ruby’s brain.
Your my next victim.
I’ll destroy your heaven
Just like Eminem without venom
Like cookies and raisin
Like snow in autumn
Like electrons in the atoms
Like no rhythm in a poem
Like a Texan in the winter
Like an opaque prism
Like a disconnected tendon
Like a felon breaker melons
Like an anthem with a question
Like Gotham getting boredom
Like orange juice usin lemons
I’ll show you around and where you’ll stay.
I’ll show you each room and the plaques of pain.

In the first room here’s a library of memory’s.
Each one creating a new recipe
Each one feels just like yesterday
Every time I think I pull up this google history
I call on Gods heavenly destiny
And shout why me!
Every memory in here guarantees
Pain for joyous times I can not longer reach
Pain for the experiences that clogged me in misery.
Or the bookshelves full of empty space
Daunting me to erase the pace
Giving me a shovel to dig my grave
Telling this is evidence
Of the tears pulsing your veins
The reason you feel like such a mistake
The flames that you slaved to put out
Traps you in a maze
Saying you wasted you ace.
Reminding me of the weights.
The shelves are full of hopes and regrets
Beware open a book and expect
To select a gun to load and cock
I preferred the guns that neglect the memory’s
The pistols that grants my memory’s put off immortality
Spin it, twist it, stop it and shoot
Like Russian roulette
With my regrets the ones skewed
Then displayed on a shelf for all to see
But try to touch it to pick up and read
But no one gets to unlock my soul
The lock is seeled by prides control

The next room down the hall.
The fairest of em all.
Is a wishing well that’s overflowed
Pennys and quarters and parts of my soul
Committed all to one short lived goal
No more space let to dream
Just thoughts and messages begging to be complete
My storage is full go ahead and delete.
The stone laid well, hidden in the streams
Of parts of my souls that believed in me
But that’s the thing with age
You start think more realistically about the wrong things
You worry and worry but you are still off beat
Like your minds a big symphony
Sing along.
It hears what it wants
And soon you start living the song.
The wishing well.
The bucket barried far underneath
A quoted down by the dreams I will never reach
They chime together like a rich mans pockets
Singing along to my defeat
Constantly in a loop of repeat
None are pulled up to work towards completion
This room is pulling consent of my failure                                                                        Failure, the fear before progress.
The blockage to every forward step.
The glove in every boxing match.
In every action only seeing the faults.
Like gazing at the bottom on a long tight rope.
Like plotting a line and forgetting the slope.
Like building your castle on the outside of your moat.
Like winning the lotto by just using hope.                                                                            Like buying a lambo when you bank just went broke.
Like an anchor made of balloons holding down your boat.
Like tossing your treasure in the ocean hoping for it to float.
The fear of failure the enemy of progression.
You sing you mind therapy to cope with loss; the song that’s rings your a lost cause.
And soon your singing that same dreary tune, it begins chiming in rhythm to your heartbeats ruse.
Your veins start pulsing to your daytime blues.
Like getting the news late afternoon.
Like staring at a wall hoping for it to amuse.
Like yelling at the screen makes the opposition lose.
These dreams
These dream
I hold on loose
I can spend my whole life wishing at a star
Squeezing my hands together
Saying a prayer
But I every time I fail
My mind pays my drive for bail
And the penny is flicked into the pail
Lost in the copper loot of my well
My brain becomes rich with investing
In my stale old dreams
My cemented down feet
My drowned out screams
My dreams with no peace

The next location
The next destination
Is a window that looks out onto the world
Different colors and pigments
That fade and than glow
This is my perspective
My eyes into different angles of the reality
Every day when a look here it lowers my self economy
Reminds me there’s no pause in reality
Like a record that’s spins and sings the same song to me
Taunting me to sing along to the worlds therapy
A scotch tape fix to the black hearts of sin
A green clover with only 3 rings
A bee that lost its sting
This window opens and closing daily
I block it out but it looms the room
I try to close the curtains
But everytime the sun bursts through
The window shatters
The the worlds songs grows louder
As an increasing latter
Or growing seed
It plants in me many lies and deceits                                                                                Looking back on yesterday
Looking through the index of my life
Erasing the pages that cause me fright
But the pages always show up later
I save down the hall
Through the elevator
To the library of memory’s
It’s lock inside
You won’t reach it
It’s locked so deep you’ll never see it
Try to find it and you will see
It’s like cutting steak with a butter knife
Or flying a kite in windless terrain
Or chanting for sunshine in the heaviest rain.
The window is the source of all my joy
A spark of laughter at a nighttime ball
But when the clock strikes 12
The carriage will shrink
Back into the pumpkin no one can see
Nighttime always falls
I anxiously await it
Waiting to see if this time it will brake it
I become so restless
As a car with two wheels
Or fishermen with bright red ribbon as reel
This window covers the entire wall
Mixed mural of every color of the rainbow
Red, orange, yellow
Green, blue, purple
Transparent and projected
To many angles.

The last room in your left.
Down the stairs past the rest.
Lies the me I project to the world.
The rooms of paintings beautifully crafted
Painting over my sorrows my tear filled eyes
It has my mind captivated                                                                                                      It hides my minds creates binds
It’s what everyone wants to see
It doesn’t cause people trouble
They don’t see the real me
They see these paintings and sculptures
Of who they want to see
Paint over my face with a fabricated smile of glee
So no matter my mood
People will always see
The version of Ruby that’s calm and complete
Not the remix or the tape in the closet
The album cover of the original mess
A masterpiece over my minds guest
Full of paintings and sculptures
Full of beautifully crafted art and design
Foraged by the fires of the human mind
Created all to hide the wreckage
To protect myself from the humiliation
I sell my paintings for my protection
An armor over my heart that seals the loss
Because if people see what their is to see
They will no longer think of me as me
But as an old guitar out of tune
Or as eating steak with a small round spoon
Or the moon coming up before noon
The sun covering up for the mistaken cue
An old loose screw
A cat that bellows moo
Or a ticking bomb with a timeless fuse
No ones amused
So I had myself within the walls of this room
Fearing one day my acting will be seen through
And people with see the painting bled underneath the paint
Through the walls
Through the ceiling
Through the ground
And unearth the painful memory’s
And see the me costume free

The finally room at the end, the room no one will ever go in.
This concludes my tour.
There’s no room in the inn.
But peek through the keyhole and you may see.
A room full of broken glasses and paints
Wreckage and stains
That engrave into the depths of my name
The plaques of my pain
The twisted wires of my very brain
The cation tape wrapped around the room
Take a peek your heart might release
A beat so mellow the ground will tremble
A earthquake
A tornado
A flood or a storm
Piles and piles of shrapnel and loose boards
Beams of atomic green infused power
Cut through the walls the carpet the floor
Cut through the very being of my core
The sirens sing their intriguing ring
Like a mouse trap and some cheese for my sanity’s lure
Or an bewitched ore reversing every stroke
The 8 ball stops at every ball I poke
Every warning croaks it draining tone
The speakers blast my song of doom
This is the room
The dump of my dreams
The lost penny’s and dimes that were lead astray by stream
The discarded affirmations
The drowned aspirations

I think it’s time you leave
There’s many more rooms which you cannot see
But these are rooms that take up most of my mind
Looks like the clouds are gone, go enjoy the sunrise.
And I’ll wait here watching as hours tick by
Counting down till fate meets with my demise
A rag doll
Left behind
-RgDoll