Parched –—
From these salted wounds
Hazy, smoke-filled rooms penetrating
The scabs on my wrists, the stitches
On my heart where I’ve placed it on my
Sleeve for you to wipe your tears upon

Don’t want to put myself to sleep
For these dreams take away realism by
Releasing the seams and all
I want to do is feel alive

And I guess I was born to swallow a
fist full of pills ‘til the smile on my face
drains the color in your eyes;
Because you called mania pretty
Where I could not see it

Can’t hold onto my fingers no longer without
Picking up layers of my skin where you
Have kissed impulsive touches, fainted cries

There is no breath in your strokes,
No reason for me to pull and push
Your every thrill if I’m going
To bury these walls I have
Yet to build

Be gone, my dry mouth
Forget me still