My throat is in old Tupperware bowl used as an ashtray full of burn marks never been cleaned just emptied.

My body is a punch bag beaten up by beer, take-aways and lazy living.

My mind is a collection of old collectible records all scratched and collecting dust in an old forgotten attic.

My hands are shaky spider legs spinning webs of deceit.

My eyes are tired from looking through this mask of strength wanting freedom from the darkness longing to accept the weakness that is.

My feet point forward but they walk backwards.

My desire is on fire, its always been on fire.

My spirit believes in possibilities so ill stick around to see what happens.