It burns me up inside
How together you appear to be
I know my own temperament
It’s magmatic, though its not what you see
Like a scorpion, it stings me bitter
The poison spreads into my eyes, trachea
Like a starfish surviving on the shore,
I deny my slow death and call upon my inner mafia
I fight myself away from the border
Right by there, I see you cope
A concentration chamber, my mind has become
I burn like paper, letting my ashes elope
With the itsy bits of rubble remaining
Somehow I awaken, with a brush and pan
I kneel and scrape, dust and cleanse
To become a phoenix and rise from my death again.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
It burns me up inside
How together you appear to be
I know my own temperament
It’s magmatic, though its not what you see
Like a scorpion, it stings me bitter
The poison spreads into my eyes, trachea
Like a starfish surviving on the shore,
I deny my slow death and call upon my inner mafia
I fight myself away from the border
Right by there, I see you cope
A concentration chamber, my mind has become
I burn like paper, letting my ashes elope
With the itsy bits of rubble remaining
Somehow I awaken, with a brush and pan
I kneel and scrape, dust and cleanse
To become a phoenix and rise from my death again.
“‘La Douleur Exquise‘ (French) literally means “the exquisite pain”; it comes from a medical term which defines a pain which morphine cannot dull. It’s meaning has become something used to describe that indescribable pain of being hurt by the one you love.” ~ Pamela Haag (www.BigThink.com)
