These parts feel like a lie I am giving to this world,
but it doesn't throw me back a sneer,
it pretends it doesn't know.
I am carving my skin with questions,
but it bleeds back no answers,
only trophies in the shape of these scars.
I am clawing myself out,
but the pit feels like quicksand,
the more I want out the more it takes me in.
I am half a person, half a ghost
already burying myself
inside the casket of my own skin.
If these gods were real
they'd have made us of sturdier stuff
than hearts that break apart at the slightest whisper.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
These parts feel like a lie I am giving to this world,
but it doesn't throw me back a sneer,
it pretends it doesn't know.
I am carving my skin with questions,
but it bleeds back no answers,
only trophies in the shape of these scars.
I am clawing myself out,
but the pit feels like quicksand,
the more I want out the more it takes me in.
I am half a person, half a ghost
already burying myself
inside the casket of my own skin.
If these gods were real
they'd have made us of sturdier stuff
than hearts that break apart at the slightest whisper.
The pit is a good friend of mine that pulls me in every now and again.
