what am I but bad habits and misfortune
a clump of anxious organic matter
thriving on a slow painful demise
curious to watch my brains splatter
a constant state of drunk or high

I categorise my years by tragedy
this year i was carved out like a misshapen pumpkin
a sick fleshy void eternally waiting
filling my abyss with liquor and stale cigarettes

an existence built on mistrust
my subconscious is a traitor I've tried to ****
force feeding me sadistic thoughts
I try to exterminate indruding thoughts with pills

why is it I seek solace in strangers faces
looking for meaning in empty glances
I scavenge for genuine connection
my renegade mind shuns potential advances

my identity is hiding somewhere
between the pillows of a ***** stained couch  
it fell down those dusty neglected crevasses
I dropped it the night I got slipped a pill and a victim complex

lie to me
i want to hear the deceit in your voice
sigh to me
speak your rehearsed apology of choice
say goodbye to me
watch me crumble and silently rejoice

my clumsy limbs
                           held together with wet cement
              taught rubber bands
                         struggle to bind my flesh

I am but a mess of unimportant matter
another aimless being to fill the space    
unique for my twisted thoughts  
hysterically pleading with a calm face                    

speaking warped words i do not mean
         lips sealed like the lid on my boiling ***
                      dumping oppressed feeling into its contents
                                     bubbling over sweetly burning my raw skin hot

blistered I hide behind my cotton disguise
my misshapen body covered in a gruesome sweat                    
     sickening wounds throb for the sight of others                          
witness my plague of dry sobs and cigarettes                        

and so i shriek silently like my sister and father
hold my tongue saturated with sour emotion
my poorly constructed moth-eaten being
self sabotages in a desperate motion

I am no innocent being
guilty am I of emotionless touch
strategically avoiding attachment
reducing myself to an object of lust

I ****** the ones I loathe the most
****** movements and tasteless smalltalk
faces blur together in a sea of one night stands
blocked phone calls and shameful morning walks

but the system has failed its creator
his hard shell was reflective of mine
confident I'd hate him the way I hate myself
I pursued him like I pursued cheap wine

a foolish underestimation found me in his bed
tender words and careful hands
my personal affectionate antichrist
played a game worse than my plans

I fell in love with a boy just like me
so much so he told me to shut the door when I leave

i wanted to write a poem for my father
and so i searched for such apprasions from before
yet i only found scattered homes and absent dreams
and i cannot deny my father was once not as whole as me
he tipped the glass to his lips until he his inners wasted away
suddenly i see how easy it is to write upon the mistakes of yesterday
but i cannot deny that he struggled against that glass of temptation
like adam and eve he took the fruit and was shunned from the garden
but he now leaves and starts a fresh
and seed by seed
i thank you father
for building a new garden for me