I spent so long
So much of my time in this world
Building my fortress.
I have skin of steel
And ribs of iron.
And yet
With one flick of god's fingers
I am no longer impervious.
I've spent years molding metal
Coming at myself with
A hot hammer [clang/clang/clang]
And yet
Any old Joe
Can sling grenades at me [BOOM]
And snap my titanium bones
Like fragile twigs.
Any ******* person I meet
Can say your name
And bring me to my knees.
And that
That just burns me.

drunk *** is more logical,
you moan things you could never say sober,
your moves fumble but end with awkward
names shout out and nails
filled with blood and dead skin cells of people you
don’t want to
remember.
drunk *** makes more sense to me. because i feel more
****, more alive, yet more devastated.
so when i’m ******* you, i’m trying to ****
out the problems i can’t seem to
erase.
don’t take it personally. well, that’s what people try
to tell me. yet i take everything personally.
(i’m working on it)
i’ll keep having drunk ***,
and trying to mend the bruises that i crave for,
trying to bandage the heart that i can’t find the
beat for
anymore.
people tell me they don’t understand why i’m crying,
and all i can say is,
same here. i don’t get it
either.

Yeah, that'd be it;
*I'm quixotic as ****.

If I treat you like a church
Will you treat me like a headstone?
If you are sacred ground to me
Am I dead and buried beneath you?
If I give you the reverence that thunders through my veins
Will you treasure it like prayer beads
Or anoint every passerby with it
Like blessed water
That you know is really from the tap?
If I touch you like you're made of glass
Will you cut me up with that?
Are you looking for a graffiti artist
Who will scrawl his name on your cheek in mud?
Are you out for blood-
Your own-
In sacrifice to make someone else the temple?
If you are
I fear I will be mumbled like a thoughtless prayer
That nobody really cares the meaning of
And tossed away with a shrug
Like a coin into the collector's basket
Because you know you "should".
The world is my religion
And I see divinity in people.
If I tell you I wish I was shorter
So that I could look up at you
Because it just doesn't feel right to be eye to eye
Will you know what I really mean?
Or will you leave me to wander at night
And wonder why
The church doors are locked
To somebody who worships every waking moment?

Age is no big deal,
but eight years contains a lot -
well love, so do I.