sharp eyes, sharp tongue, sharp nails, sharp shoulders.
it's a wonder
how you are not bleeding out on the floor.
you said it was rare to see
the roots of my hair.
(well that's because it falls out
when i dye it)
but little do you know, i'm still dying inside.
i just wore masks to hide it.
so i use my life to give birth to symbols and those symbols are pregnant with a plethora of words
that nestle themselves into cocoons in my dreams,
to hatch the next day with elegant wings.
my limbs are not rungs on the latter out of your personal hell.
you know i slack off and slouch against the sofa and the couch
when i sit and smoke and i wake up.
we set ourselves up for failure and we sell ourselves short.
i wanted to just be a friend of the sort,
not bathing in your shadow.
i resort to
failure.
failure is easier than anything else,
i don't care about myself.
it's easier to condemn yourself to your doom
than to be consumed by success.
there's an undertow in life and that's why it's so hard to swim back to shore,
i'm sure you know.