Connect the lines drawn upon my
Flesh, this is the incurable
Words that are hated upon
My being.

Hater of myself, never to let
My wounds heal, wishing for me
To cut your words deeper, to bleed
your words out of me.

These are a journey of the torment
you have cut into me, all these days
that you spat your hatred, disrespect
Upon my skin, ill cut there words until
they're too deep to stop the bleeding.

I will suffer the sorrow of life now
taken for words cut me deeper than any
words you spoke,  sat there in misery
as the last cut, released all the pain
You breathed upon me,
"Cut me a line of happiness"
Till I bleed smiles instead of **depression.

He rest's his head
on a pillow made of concrete

Feeling maybe he'll see
a better set of days

Hands out again see faces
that are not familiar

Dark grin he can't hold in
when he looks happy
he looks insane

Thoughts arrive like butterflies
he doesn't know so he chase's them away

Kneeling down looking at papers
though he doesn't know how to read

Praying to something that has
never showed him anything

Feelings understand the weather
and he's know winter is on the way

Ceilings few and far between
all legal halls of shame

Whispering to his hands gently
to please take him away

I am not a perfect angel
Or a fairy in a jar.
No gossamer winged thing, I
am flawed, I am imperfect
And I sometimes fail.
Falling for you was my redemption.
While yearning for perfection,
I had nothing to give, I had no way to grow,
Frozen by rejection
All my courage had fled,
There was nowhere to go.
I can fly now, without wings,
Floating up, up,
I am borne by wizard gifted magic.
Even so
I am not a perfect angel
Or a fairy in a jar.

I sit and I dream,
a parasitic dream,
where we aren't
who we were
and we aren't
how we seem.
Where I eat you
and you eat me
and somehow
we're still
happy.

In each pile of
body on body
I walk by
loneliness
and loss.
I love you's
and
I hate me's
saturate the air's
conscience.
Us,
the nation and all
are pinned against
each wall
being ******,
mercilessly.
We are
*******
heartbreakers.
Our ***** are
property of
others:
intellectual property.

In my dream,
where I dream,
everyone
I've ever loved,
is dreaming
and
trapped in a pit
of motorized
rubber ******
where the rubber
pumps and eats,
pumps and eats,
breaking ribs,
shattering spines,
ripping esophagus,
splitting spirit like
tissue paper.
Bodies ripped apart
by branded, artificial
"love":
society's configuration.
Brand recognition.
Product placement.
Motor salad.

I am wide awake,
i do not wish to sleep,
i am here to think about him,
our love i will keep.