lacy roses reign over my veins
and galaxies govern these bruises.
i am delicate.
yes, i had thorns,
but they fell from your reckless care,
one by one,
and now i am all broken roses
with bruises that never end
like the galaxies beyond our knowledge,
beyond your knowledge.

they don't care.
they'll only care when the lace is ripped.
and the children made of stars
engulf me until i am no more;
only then do they realize
that i am delicate.

It's bothering me
That ticking on the wall
Can't you hear it
The more you focus
The louder it gets
Please, make it stop
So many other things
To be thinking about
That are all in the background
Because of this clock
The gears moving
Making me tick
I can't move, can't breathe
Can't do anything
Because that ticking on the wall
Will not stop
It only gets louder
The more you focus on it
Can't you hear it too?

She will hold a gun to your head and her name is carved into the bullet, but it's only for her arousal.
She always had a thing for getting into people's  head.

Do you like this?
When I touch you with burnt fingertips?

I'm drawing a map all over your body with blood stained hands and you don't even blink.
You're just my type, twisted and all.

Your skeletal body leaving its imprints all over the plum duvet.
Your scent stings, but it makes me touch myself in forbidden and unholy ways.

Just one thirsty kiss and I will be indulged by his fire.
This is so bad, but it feels so nice.
His flavor is all over my tongue, bittersweet.

I need more.

This mirror must be broken
For I don't like what I see
This mirror must be fractured
Because my face seems broken, too.

This mirror must be unfixable
For the cracks only expand
This mirror must be crumbling
And I can feel myself crumbling, too.

But the mirror isn't broken
It perfectly reflects back.
And I am the only thing that's broken.

I'm the only thing unfixable.

i'm seeing a psychoanalytic therapist
they want to analyze me
because my so called life has turned into the scariest
and somehow in a country of freedom i can't be free
they want to analyze me like a mathematician
analyzes the graph of an unknown function
psychiatric ward it says in the papers for my admission
i'm not crazy somebody please give me a definition
how do you think you can analyze a human
you can't look inside my mind
where all my thoughts are blooming
creating my emotions, feelings or something of an other kind
why do all my actions need a reason
how do you know i didn't write that poem
just to show them how i see the world
it doesn't necessarily mean i'm broken
just because you do not understand
doesn't mean I suffer from some unknown disease
why analyze a masterpiece
cause that's what every single human is