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Oct 2012
Going through the motions of life without the ability to feel.
I will not allow myself to be altruistic, to have love.
I am mechanical.
I am a fine tuned machine.
Made in your image.
Going through the motions of life.
Watch me be perfect.
Your definition of real.
I'm cold.  I'm gone.
Save me from loneliness.
Save me from the hyperborean dungeon of my mind.
Save. Me.
My heart has turned to pistons and steel.
Bloodless and without flexibility.
Pumping anguish and self-hate with every inspiration I take through my veins, my newly welded pipes.
Lacerate myself to see if I still bleed.
It feels better than the truth.
Miss Jade Murder
Written by
Miss Jade Murder  NYC
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