Pain is my greatest motivation.
Contentment just a sign of deflation.
And in my cycle of emaciation,
I write my weight in words.
Hate is the weakest retaliation
Nations use for further aggravation.
I asked her to meet me at the station,
And saw her head on the train,
Hustling along with the herds.

Your reality is unrealistic.
You are not a simple statistic-
You are a person.
The thoughts seem to worsen
Within the ages of these stages
And changes of the seasons-
I don’t know the reasons,
But the wind whispers through
My hair, and without a care,
I watch silently
Somberly
As our reality tears.

Life we keep going,
Even when you’re gone.
The wind, still blowing.
The sun still shining in the dawn.
The thunder and fire
That shook your soul.
The endless tire that
Took its toll.
You ripped away the mold
And sold your bruised truths.
Time ensues,
Continues.

A priceless piece of art in her precious gallery.
Punctured with a nail, she hangs for all to see.
Her creator, unknown.
A man masked in grey-
Took his artwork by the hand,
And traded her for pay.
Time spent perfecting; now long gone.
The Act or Art itself had gone all wrong.
The linework snakes through unknown feelings.
Canvas skin, your paint is peeling.
And here you sit, sealing
Your patches with rancid untruths.
These abused blue hues
He uses so aloof.
As your are hanging, with no tongue left for maiming,
He finds a new soul he believes needs framing.
You and she shall be the same-
Abuse and misuse are
Engrained in the brains
Of the women he has tried to tame…
But he is no artist.

Never the same as yesterday.
Words change and lines fray.
Veins snake through unknown feelings-
Canvas skin, your paint is peeling
And you are kneeling
To a new god.
A fraud
That you announced as fiction
Only yesterday.

You have reached the edge of the world.
You held my hand- my toes, they curled.
I shook down my hair, without a care.
Lost in time in that infinite stare.
I wouldn't dare look away-
I want this moment;
Stay.

You will never be perfect,
The words aren’t worth it.
The only gut love you have, and you cannot birth it.
I’m bottling myself inside my of skin-
Wall after wall, and the flesh is wearing thin.
Pulsing a hatred for my charred insides-
I force it down,
And wait for the thought to die.