This ****** garbage I put on the screen. Screaming for some sort of definition of what I am. What I feel. Fear  - what I say. Said.
Tears that are like fire drops bleeding down my salty cheeks. Too pale to see the Sun. To weak to see my son. Develop - Grow. Live.
This mistaken luck has been put on a microphone. Grabbing it -- to drop it. I murdered those words. I killed this mistaken life. Left.
Explode your lyrical database on my inverted abdomen - woo me. Her. You don't seem to take notes on the spherical (re)cycle that drives your automated mobile. To nowhere. But here.
******* lover. Or did I? Did I ever... or do you always?
Tough.