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i melt my skin into bath bombs fill the tub like water with all the parts i want to wash away i am trying to cleanse my pores become sweet like cinnamon air in a quaint bakery, all flowers and as the rain smeared, the lights bled like an oil painting in the reflection and i stopped to stare at myself in the window i am not a work of picasso i am a product of a loveless marriage i am a representation of how passion can become possession i retain memories within me that make my brain swell and i feel my heart beat in my glands i am trying to master sensitivity so i can be more thoughtful when i explain to you why i am the way that i am, so that i don’t upset you i don’t think there’s blood within me my organs are mechanic i am made of pure electricity and too much frequency rests in my palms, scattered like shattered glass and convulsing through me i am trying to cleanse my pores smell doughnuts at the seaside instead of rotting flesh nothing about this is luxurious i try to be elegant as held together as woven ivy i am more graveyard more derelict detachment i stare at a reflection in a quaint bakery window i hope one day i merge with the lights on the pathway and become all oil painting      all flowers     all sweet like cinnamon.
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Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 10:20 AM UTC
picasso
i melt my skin into bath bombs fill the tub like water with all the parts i want to wash away i am trying to cleanse my pores become sweet like cinnamon air in a quaint bakery, all flowers and as the rain smeared, the lights bled like an oil painting in the reflection and i stopped to stare at myself in the window i am not a work of picasso i am a product of a loveless marriage i am a representation of how passion can become possession i retain memories within me that make my brain swell and i feel my heart beat in my glands i am trying to master sensitivity so i can be more thoughtful when i explain to you why i am the way that i am, so that i don’t upset you i don’t think there’s blood within me my organs are mechanic i am made of pure electricity and too much frequency rests in my palms, scattered like shattered glass and convulsing through me i am trying to cleanse my pores smell doughnuts at the seaside instead of rotting flesh nothing about this is luxurious i try to be elegant as held together as woven ivy i am more graveyard more derelict detachment i stare at a reflection in a quaint bakery window i hope one day i merge with the lights on the pathway and become all oil painting      all flowers     all sweet like cinnamon.
#hope#change#reflection#personal#life#painting#sadness#depression#hopeless#future
bonehouses
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bonehouses
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 10:20 AM UTC
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