I'm always worried about the placement of my teeth, and the thrashing of my tongue. Hoping that when they meet I won't sound like some fool ******* on his thumb- all deaf, blind, and dumb. My vocal cords sprout dust, and it covers my lungs when I inhale my words back like a ghost. I'll hold them in until I choke, because every sentence I speak happens to be the punchline to a joke provoking laughter from those I care for the most. I'm ignored, unless you're bored then you find I stultify much more than you were before and I'm left behind- encouraged to die. Your hands hold the blade as you teach me how to cut right, a sliver- a slice of my 'precious' life. Serve it on a ***** plate for the roaches and the flies, let them wallow in my grime as I melt away like time, or does it fly? My clocks are in the sun but their hands are in the sky, pointing to the clouds where god likes to hide. To my surprise, they aren't white; they're encased in shadows and deep, dark night. Maybe he exists, 'cause it always rains when I cry like he wants me to persist with this pain that I like. Yeah, right.. Like, love, abhor, despise they're on the same coin just different sides. I stay flipping, but it never lands right; so maybe I'm the one pleasing Pain's appetite. Sinking teeth into me with his endless bites, what's the point in trying to fight? He always finds me when I hide under sheets of loneliness that warm me with silence. A paper-thin shelter from this home's violence, my skin is colored in blues and violets; I'm a flower pigmented so vibrant ripped from the dirt and buried inside hurt. I'm always worried about the placement of my teeth, and the thrashing of my tongue. Hoping that when they meet I won't sound like some fool ******* on his thumb- all deaf, blind, and dumb. My vocal cords sprout dust, but I'll utter one last word- gone.
-SLuR