with my very own eyes, i see the rotten flesh of mine die

deader than dead

upon gazing on a walking mirror — a material-less self

i wish i did not speak nor spoke in a different way

lest not think this day

when people are horrible — horribly

just like me

just like me

lately, i have been illiterate.

hasty is this mouth that has beheld bad composures upon being looked upon at all

for i am not a flower to gaze at, nor a star to wonder

i do not see myself at all

since all i am is all that worries this precious soul

and i blind myself with me

here it is again, the same old topic, the same old story, the same old rant

about a word i will not mention for it is already too bland

on the tip of my tongue — i wish it would be gone

its meaning sure is, i wish it never did

loneliness is key

to be filled with pertinent happiness, at least only to fill

we are containers

containers with holes

containers with moles

i hate this obliterating gaze

that kills the curiosity in others

if only i could take it off like shades,

maybe then i could make a good mother

nobody has ever regarded me as the person i would like to be

young and sweet and graceful in all sides

maybe this is why

if it is within my circle of salt,

i guess i will stay

but to look out the window

to see what it’s like outside

that in which — all together, is another story

take away this garbage bag of a heart

take away these knives to the throat

i am not an angel nor a dove

i would want the best from above

but not from me