Sharp whips on soft skin,
Pores filled with pain,
*pleasure

It's the kind of puking that you don't recover from, when you're hunched over the trash can and you have enough time to side glance and admire your spine in the mirror you forgot to clean. * if I go over the lines one more time they'll blow out* I tattooed your abuse inside the medicine cabinet, where I go to meet Jesus every Tuesday night. When Friday seems to far away, and your fist so close. It's not just a memory this is a legacy. Trash can duets.

4:09 am and I'm not sleeping. Wide awake, wrists open but not quite bleeding. Mind ****** by man vs nature. A young child battles against wits & wagers. I fall in between, because neither of us are sleeping.

before you'll able
to help
others...

understand your
pain first and
confide
to
your
inner
being...

upon listening
you'll reflect
your own,
by then
you can
be connected
to their heart strings...

empathy is a blessing
as it is a burden.
it hurts you more
than it pains them...

just stay
on a steady
phase,
then you'll be
okay...