Others had a way with words,
see , they had thought my scars were burns.
Burns from the flames of my recklessness at work.
But really, insomnia was my employer because every night I had to be on time to the schedule beneficial to its needs.
Because you see, insomnia was in love with depression,
oh how they made sleepy eyes seem to gleam.
Weakness in standing and shaky hands worth having.
Danced across my skin ,skates like razors ,
performances with roses.
I always found the thorns, they were in my head.
Crucified for feelings I never could truly understand , I told people I was dieing.
But all I wanted was for someone to hold my hand.