I have no room for new scars.
My heart is more glued seams than pieces of
Hope and muscle.
My smile is as pale as the back of a
Dalí painting; all canvas and
Dirt.
I have opened my arms for a hug and
Stood accused of impersonating Christ.
Meditation rendered me unsocial.
As misunderstood as Latin, yet
I yell at the walls of common reality with
The dead language of my innersoul,
Cursing and blaspheming for the attention
Of deities. Some may listen; not one needs
To reply.
All I want is to break down the wall
Between myself and any creator
Listening,
And say Thank You. The Love
Of my Life is
My life.
What I love the most about my
Life is
It.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
I have no room for new scars.
My heart is more glued seams than pieces of
Hope and muscle.
My smile is as pale as the back of a
Dalí painting; all canvas and
Dirt.
I have opened my arms for a hug and
Stood accused of impersonating Christ.
Meditation rendered me unsocial.
As misunderstood as Latin, yet
I yell at the walls of common reality with
The dead language of my innersoul,
Cursing and blaspheming for the attention
Of deities. Some may listen; not one needs
To reply.
All I want is to break down the wall
Between myself and any creator
Listening,
And say Thank You. The Love
Of my Life is
My life.
What I love the most about my
Life is
It.
