I can feel the balloon inside of me deflating deliberately
     as if there is a minuscule puncture in its underbelly that no one can regard.
I feel like I am the growing void
     and also that the void is growing within me.

Your silent delusion lurks in the corners of my brain and I am so ashamed.
You abide in the underbelly of my eyelids
     that are leaking deliberately as if there's a minuscule puncture where no             one can regard it.

I'm that speck of ******* that gets left behind on a dollar bill
     and spent on a pack of gum.

Thanks for the game.

Hovering;
      Encompassing;

With a chest that has
      endured twenty-four years
             of ambiguity,

I am rooted  
      beneath the landscape
           of my integrity.

Hearkening whispers that remind me of footsteps;
awaiting them to be yours---
I'm ashamed, defeated on all fours.
I'm crestfallen because I'm certain
     that I am devastatingly unsound---
            nose stuck to the ground.

I have a mood indigo so abiding it's embarrassing.
My heart is colliding and subsiding to this pain.
I hear one tick and imagine that it's the lights;
      a plight to know this night hasn't died---
           but it never is one.
I'm pretending its all a burlesque
      but repressing the truth that it never is that picturesque.

It's never a picture show.

I dream unsoundly,
and now my world is despondent and unsoundly.
Here I stand, invisible and indigo.
I've been indigo since "my baby said goodbye."
I'd call myself Ivonne
     but nobody would even care to know.

Frivolously toss a grain of sand into my heart
and watch it tear me through the pavement.

Don't awaken me to my failures
for they're my most dependable friends.
They never forsake me;
my baneful lovers until the end.

They're the sun that blinds me as it hovers
and abandons me in the twilight.
Why is it that the sun will always go down on me
but you never will anymore?

This is my ode to severence
so severe that I will bleed out
if you extract yourself from my chest.
So sleep there and keep me arduously alive.

I've been to every surgeon of a lover that loves to cut,
and none of them can fix this breach in me.
So I stuff it with rambunctuous patterns and accessories.
I wanted you to be a ravishing accessory for me,
but you're only an accessory to my spirit's assassination.

The coronet of my history still carves a hole in my brain.
With this hole in my chest
and this hole in my brain,
I feel eternally chained to the pain.

It's as if you pierce me just to see if I still can feel.
I can tell you without proof that it's the only thing that's real.

So now my molten emotions have erupted;
evanescing everyone I know away.
I'm lava that not a soul can caress.
It's not a fun game anymore.
I don't want to play anymore.

Tired of feeling like I'm ******* deranged.
They used to cheer my name,
now they whisper it,
as if my maudlin disease is contagious.

I wish I was the hero of my own epic,
but I was drafted into a tragedy
patiently awaiting my somber ending
that seems to never want to visit me.

He told me, "Pretty girls don't light their own cigarettes."

He hands me his lighter now.

You've serenaded me into a comotose slumber.
I'm continuously sensing lullabies whilst paralyzed.
I'm too terrified to speak; too timid to even mumble.
Your intonation is so soothing; a banshee in disguise.

I'm stuck asleep in this in-pain asylum built of thorns.
Dreaming of the agenda I've never been capable of.
So turn the lights out in the tornado haven in my insane and in-pain brain,
and never admonish the fact that this pain is a continuous refrain.

The fires of my desires are cornered and defeated,
smouldering beneath the timber of my emotions.
I know you could never be lighter fluid for me,
but with our incandescent splendor blown out we can still go blindly through the motions.

My reveries never used to be this empty, and now they're becoming hollow with my conscience;
and these hollow empty chances are drying out as I continue to discouragingly pursue you.

You'll never envisage your face as I see it, and you'll never envisage why this bliss makes me weap.
I'll never have the most alluring face to you,
and my cold shoulder only monotonously lulls you peacefully to sleep.

And now it's to everyone's amusement that I can't manipulate my liquor anymore.
I'm so messy hahahahahahahaha.
So they prevail, standing as if they're boulders upon my shoulders,
compressing my heart deep into my intestines.

So now my love is growing slender
as yours becomes a pretender
and my whispy love surrenders as I surrender to this alcoholic ******.

The grains of my affinity rest in your palm and you spread your fingers and let them fall.
I could beseech you to clench your fist, but I won't.

I'm your lover you don't have to love
as my heart is left hanging above.
It's high and dry;
too weak and too shy.
So tie me to this clothes line
and hang me out to dry.