A row of bottles on my shelf
Cause me to analyze myself
One yellow pill I hope to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop

A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they don't shake
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me im happy when im not

The purple one goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain
The capsules tell me not to sneeze
Or cough, or choke, or even wheeze

The red ones, smallest of the all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange one's, oh so big and bright
Stop my leg cramps in the night

Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ill's
But what i'd really like to know
Is what tells each one where to go.

I exist
on the border
between Reality,
and the Imaginary.

I breathe in belligerent Black,
and Withering whites.
I am incapable of grays,
a gradient of gruesome Grief.

I dance on the Border,
exhaling exuberant fragility,
my border is made of glass.

And I rise from the ashes,
a Byproduct of the
bridges I've burned.
Craving soothing touch,
Yet silently seeking
Incriminating Isolation,
Addicted to my own destruction.

A shattered soul dutifully
Dances on the Border,
Held captive by her sins.
Trapped between Good
and Bad. Happiness
and Heartbreak. Lost
and Found. Death
and Resurrection.

Born on the Border, a
Simple Figment of
Immoral Imagination.

We pressed our lips together
and that made my knees go weak.
You ran your hands through my back
and that made me feel the heat.
But I know it's fresh and new now
and after some time, bored, you'll go away.
Guys have cruelly taught me
that nothing gold can stay.