Today I am weighted down,
Weights of lead, of life,
Not tied to my tired shoes,
But in my hands,
And I do not how to put them down.
My palms, blistered blissfully
With marks from lovers and liars alike.
I want so badly to love my lips,
My hands,
My heart,
But they've done such damage,
Conquered with such
fiery,
clumsy
force
That even their owner must admit their faults.
I want to do better,
So much better,
But sometimes, sometimes,
I feel it is too late, to far into the winter,
I've died young,
Burned out before I even learned to fly.