Parallel paths we wander on,
glancing across every once in a while.
I feel your presence close,
but your eyes are cast down as you toil.

Your hands are too busy to hold,
your eyes are too full to see me.
A curve falls into view in the distance,
anticipation ties my heart; I count to three.

We collide in a thunderstorm,
lightning crackling in our souls,
fusing pieces of us to each other,
earth melting away into a black hole.

Rain pours over us,
but all we see is each other.
You and I push and pull,
but we stay joined together.

Time passes and we're spinning,
clocks and hands and lips and skin.
You take me to another world,
what century am I in?

The words that float off your lips,
they're like a drug I can't resist.

Who could have known
this moment we've sown
would have been born
of opposite curves in parallel roads?

Sometimes I see myself in the mirror as one would see a single celled organism under a microscope. Interesting, but small, and with very few defining features. Disappearing in the vast emptiness that is the universe and losing myself in it. I enjoy this sense of emptiness, enveloping me, draining away all that I feel. It's like an ice bath, removing the color from my cheeks and bringing me closer to the paleness of death, but not grey enough to be dead long. I am such a pretty corpse.

Sometimes I see myself in the mirror as a growing tree, my roots firmly planted in the ground, stretching my foliage up, up, into the sky to reach for things I should not be able to attain. I bear fruit for others to nourish their bodies, so they, too, will be able to reach the heights I can. I turn my leaves towards the sun, letting her color me vibrantly. I bask and I know exactly who and what I am, I know where I am going, I know I am strong.

Sometimes I see myself as a flame, dancing on the roots that held me grounded. When they release me from the earth, I shoot across the breeze and burn everything in my path. My friends and family reach out, to try to slow me down, but they burn themselves badly and recoil into their own spaces. I am alone, but my will to move too quickly outburns the will to realize the pain and destruction I'm leaving behind. I am beautiful, but I am singular.

Sometimes I see myself as a cloud, heavy with rainwater. I pass over dry lands and let myself fall upon them, quenching the thirst of a thousand drought years. I caress the hard dirt and sink into it, letting myself pool around rocks, and draining into the crevices until I become one with the ground I fell on. And then the sun beats upon me, and lifts me back up, and I am scattered into a million pieces within the sky. I am insignificant.

Sometimes I see myself as a white rose, symbolic of purity and innocence, but sown from the soil of doubt and despair. I hold within me the poison of the black dirt I came from, yet lovers pass me back and forth, promising forever. I shrivel up and die, long forgotten in a dry vase, on a kitchen table used only for piling junk mail. My petals litter the surface, and a passerby might toss me away. I will find the earth again.

Sometimes I see myself. But am I really myself? Who have I become in this whirlwind of people, places, and things? Who have I become, with war waging in my mind, different sides all righteous in their own ways. I am me. Aren't I?

You tell me you love me
like it's what I need to hear
when reality sinks me
and my cries fall on deaf ears

You tell me you love me
when hatred spills from your lips
who i am sinks further down
until all that's left is my bleeding skin

You tell me you love me
as you pick up more soil
burying who I am as a person
while you deftly toil

You tell me you love me
but I'll never be the same
how can you love someone
when you've erased their entire being?

Today will be a good day when
you can look me in the eye again.

Today will be a good day
if you answer when I call your name.

Today will be a good day when
you pick up your phone.

Today will be a good day
if I go less than 3 hours without worrying about you.

Today will be a good day when
I see happiness light up your face.

Today will be a good day
If I hear from you at all.

I keep waiting
it's been months since I've had
even one good day.

I would deprive myself of sleep for weeks
Just to kiss the tears off your cheeks
Because no amount of slumber dark
Could mop the sorrow from your heart.

Do not fear you are transparent,
fading in to the background,
your heart is not shattered beach glass,
your life does not spin circles 'round.

You are a work of art,
layer upon layer of color,
A brilliant painted canvas,
a faceted and glowing heart.

When you fear you're disappearing,
disintegrating into the air,
But I see you clear as the light of day,
standing in front of me there.

No matter the scars
no matter the ****** up parts,
you will always be you,
And that's all I want.

I could fall asleep in the hammock of your crooked grin,
but I haven't slept in weeks again.
I could drown in your eyes and end it all,
like the koi pond at my old home in the middle of fall,
I could live forever in your warm embrace,
only I can't seem to find the time or place.

I could break free of this moment in time,
but I might lose you forever,
and I just couldn't face tomorrow,
If you danced out of my mind.

You are standing in front of me
though I'm not sure how you're still standing
with all of that metal hanging
from your shoulders  to the ground.

You stand far off in the distance
and step back once
whenever I have advanced twice.
Your armor is like a mirror in which
I see my own reflection.

Eventually I reach you and
you falter and halt your retreat.
You are afraid, and you hold out your weapon.
I carefully touch the blade
It draws a drop of blood
It shines against the overused sword
Faraway you've named it.
Though it has yet to cut me in two.

I take the hilt in my hands
and lift it from your grasp
your hands fall to your sides,
grateful for the relief.

It is a dance between us again,
a step backward, and two against.
I am close enough to hear your warm breath
fighting with the cool metal
covering your face.

I reach out
and take the first buckle in my hand.
Piece by piece, it falls to the ground.
Layers take years to reach,
but your skin is lighter for it.

Down to chain mail and helm
you seem to be weak.
Your body exhausted from
the weight it has carried for so long.

Patience fills my heart as we dance again,
to and from,
back and forth,
but you are down on your knees now.
I lower myself to the ground
and lift with both hands
the split sphere around your face.

I am hit by wave upon wave
of unsteady, wild emotion
but I do not turn away.
chain mail is last to fall,
and there you are.

You are glowing hot,
red and orange and sometimes blue
and It burns my skin, but I hang on tight.
You blister me purposely
let go
But we are already fused.
You melt into a shaking
and tired mess in my arms

and then we stand.

And I don't love you any less for it.

I'm sitting here wondering what you think of me.
That I'm weak and spineless. A loser for pushing you the way I did.
I probably am.
I know I'm bad for you, my selfish heart clinging to you like burrs to a cat's tail.
Cast aside when you tire of my presence.
I wrote you music that I sing to myself when I get lonely.
I remind myself that your happiness is more important than my own.
But my dear, losing you might just destroy me.
It might wither me away into nothing.
Like I never existed.
Like I've been broken into tiny pieces.
Small enough to be blown away
like dust in the wind.

You sit in your chair
a record plays in the background
and I know what you're thinking.
You are silent, but your body is screaming.

Your hands folded across your chest,
chin tilted downward.
Your eyes don't meet mine,
but I can see the storm within them.

Your mind is a battlefield
where weapons clash and martyrs fall
you convince yourself
that you are alone
even though I am close enough to touch you.

Lying on the bathroom floor
staring up at the stars
the ceiling gone, and I imagine your face
painted in the sky like a ghost
of my needs, my wants, my affections.

You laugh and stare at someone else
while I lay here, blade on the left
and bottle on the right
a cigarette at my lips
where I wish yours were.

But the end of this story is yet unwritten
and you hold the pen in your hand
I refuse to touch the items around me
in a circle like buzzards over
a dying animal.

blade. bottle. heart. cigarettes. tears. clothing. paper.

A little pile of ash rains on my collarbone.
I draw a heart
where mine used to be.
I haven't had it for quite some time.
Because I continually give it to
people who need it more than I.

And now I stare up at it
I'm not sad
but how can I be happy
with your lips on his
and my eyes on you.

I love the way you look at me
as my toes curl on the edge of the pavement.
For once it looks like you care
as I'm standing, looking down at my grave.

Your tears electrify me
as they mix with the hot summer rain,
because now you're terrified.
I feed on the fear.
The basis of you, losing something
other than time, money, or your mind.

I lean forward and hear you gasp
I laugh, lean further, stretch out my arms...

You don't catch me.
I knew you wouldn't.
That's fine.
Maybe in
the next life
someone else
will.

She
He
But the correct answer is we.

She
She
No, that's wrong, the winds scream.

He
He
Isn't what was intended.

Yet this is what's real.

Voices tremble behind closed lips.
A door locked and the key swallowed.
For her and her,
Me and you.

But you remain indifferent.
Unchanged and stony silent.
That is what the world says is good.

He
She.

I just have to be honest with you right here, right now, and it’s not going to be nice. Or easy, for that matter.

I hate you.

I hate how you cling to my shoulders, demanding my attention when I’m trying to do normal college girl things. Like when you insist on riding along when I go out with my friends, reminding me every five minutes that you think I’m ugly and worthless. I hate how you cling to my neck, making my entire back and my shoulders physically fatigued. I hate how you read too far into situations, convincing me that people think I’m weird or stupid. I hate it when you tell me to cut my hips because feeling physical pain is better than feeling nothing at all. I hate that you tell me that after I cut, the scars are ugly, so I’d best never do it where people can see them. I hate it when you tell me that I’m weak for giving in, but then convince me to give in yet again. I hate the stress headaches you give me from telling me all of these things. I hate how at the end of the night, you make me think about all of my mistakes during the day, keeping me awake until two. I hate how you suggest I do everyone a favor and just **** myself. I hate how you give me nightmares about my greatest fears becoming a reality. I hate how you sit on my chest in the mornings, making it nearly impossible for me to drag my aching, weary body to the shower to wash your black fingerprints away from my neck.

But let me make this quite clear to you:

You do not own me.

I may be stuck with you, and it may be a daily struggle for me to do normal things, but you do not control my life.

Sometimes I wish other people would understand what it’s like for me. I wish they could see your black, blobby figure hanging on my back. I wish they could see the knots in my shoulders that have your fingerprints all over them.

I wish they didn’t see you as a lie.

You are very real.

Mental illness is something society frowns upon, did you know that? You are the reason that I have to lie and say that I’m ‘just tired’ or I ‘am a little bit sick,’ when my physical appearance portrays my mental turmoil. If I told them the truth about you, I’d be treated as one of two things:

1.      Crazy
Or
2.      A liar.

So I hope you understand my dilemma, Depression. I hope you understand why I resent you so very much. I hope for my sake, and for everyone who cares about me, that you will not break me down to the point of taking my own life.

I hate you, Depression.

But that’s okay, because as long as I hate you…

You don’t own me.


Sincerely,

Sarina Kay Cassell

Velveteen and closed with slim metal clasps
Laying on the seat next to the edge of a dress.

Let me slip my hand inside to find
Nothing but a $100 bill that isn't mine.

The car comes to a lurching stop
I pay the cabbie and get out to walk.

A few coins and an aching heart
Linger with the clasp's top apart.

My silken dress swirls around my knees
At the bottom of the stairs of apartment three.

One single step leads right to the next
Velveteen catching my ragged breath.

The metal clasps held firmly closed
As I knock on the door to fill the hole.

Stolen bills and velveteen held close
And the door unbolts…

But metal clasps remain closed.

You may believe in your fictitious destitution,
You may be adrift in your false desolation,
You may be wandering a path of solitude,
And you may be drowning in ignorance.

I am occasionally condemned as such.

Our isolation like a xerox.
Synonymous of withdrawal into one's self.
Not uncommon, even cherished.

Individuality becomes enveloped.
Becoming our own worst enemies,
Among a sea of monochromes.

Exposed complexion,
Defined blush,
Vulnerable iridescence.

Recognize a promise to identity.

There is a watch inside my head
that ticks along my aching hand
and longs to write forever words
that will be my lasting curse.

Don't look at me like that.
Don't look at me at all,
In fact.
For petty wishes fall down.
Into water that I stand in,
all around.
My shoes are wet and torn.
My feet cold and numb,
so forlorn.
While I stand in your gaze.
Cold and hot and ruthless,
It never strays.

And the rain still falls.
My jean jacket soaked,
But standing tall.
I look up with defiant eyes.
And you meet them,
Smiling wide.
The battle still rages on.
I grow more numb,
Standing strong.

You hope to lead me.
By bending my will,
My lifetree.
Yet you don't understand.
See this seed right here,
In my hand?

I will plant a new one.

One to shade me,
from the blazing hot sun.
One to shield me,
from the rain and flood run,
One to deafen me,
when you loose your silver tongue.

One to teach me,
To escape your endless gaze,
and my own scrutiny.

I have mixed feelings
With the pencil in my hand
Am I making a mistake?
Is this where I stand?

I feel pale and blank
Like a canvas unpainted
Figuratively dumb
In this strange situation.

For whatever reason,

The words to explain this...
simply...

Escape my grasp.

Like grains of sand pressed too roughly
against my palm.

It leaves an imprint
Like a scalding memory

Across a hand that loses...
everything.

From the soul of the passion that burns in me,
The time my eyes have been open to see,
Every last ounce of the tragedy,
That blooms like a cherry blossom tree...

Where my only redemption is
A broken,
half-hearted apology.

Piano-playing,
pencil-wielding,
petite and paper-frail,
trace along his chin,
A triple-dare on skin,
rougher than she thinks.

Guitar-playing,
Hammer-wielding,
rough and thick-palmed,
play along her side,
a taboo danger tried,
and won with pride.

Breath quickens
and places forgotten
as the heat melts their hearts;
The summer days
that have given so much
to the one that was two parts.

Colors intertwine
and bodies disappear
into the path known by some;
Into the past
like a footprint in dirt
or a late summer's love song.

I take another breath
it comes so comfortably,
but every cloud of smoke
that escapes my lips
unfolds into the image of you.

Like the bridges you burned
the smoke still sears
the skin on the tips of my fingers
as I reach for you across the
silver abyss at my toes.

The faraway place where
you seem to stay
was never my home.
As the embers burn
the last few beams
and the ropes fall
deeply down.

I take another drag
and unfold your face
so I cannot forget
the way I looked at you
And the way you looked
at me.

Some such brilliance forever taunts,
Bringing shrapnel into my heart,
Because your words are frail and gaunt,
I know the lies are your only art.

Ticking clocks curse me so,
Forever simply doesn't know.

Temptation touches my neck so softly,
I shrink away and breathe the cloud,
He holds me closely oh so tightly,
While Secrets build a heavy shroud.

The fire melts ice below my feet,
Because forever forced us to meet.

The slight of the blade
Bites into your side
You gasp at the pain
And pleasure beside

A tear slips out
And down my cheek
Try to be loud
But only squeak

In your deaf ears
Where pain thrums now
Breaking no fear
Wasting life out

Red ribbons of love
Pour down pretty hips
Mind into the grove
And another trip

My bonds groaning
With the pressure
My love loathing
Long red fissures

The lies you spill
Crash to the floor
My love, be still
Pain is no more

*Addictions die hard
Or don't die at all
Depression's last card
Trips, please, don't fall.

Through the film of silent tears
I see a face with many fears.
Eyes that have their guard thrown up
Above your porcelain coffee cup.

Sitting in the corner over here
My legs like lead refuse to adhere
To the commands that my mind is screaming
My heart tells me I am simply dreaming.

What would all the people say
If they knew where my thoughts play?
Around and round the porcelain rim
Of your perfect coffee trim.
Fingers lace around the shine
Staring intently at passing time.
My feet do ache of lesser move
While I sit and stare at you.

My breath catches and tries to form
The words that feel so forlorn
In a mouth that shivers round the tongue
Which temptation slinks warily from.

As I watch you set porcelain down
And hips swing my heart to the ground.
My heart and mind are screaming still
Speak, if only I had the will.

The needles poked into my skin to try to heal me better
I twitch and groan and think of you and how I wish I'd never.
Chances taken chances gone like a bitter whip of wind
And the bitterness of yesterday still lingers on my lips.
But my lack of heart and empty space gives me reason still
To hold you close and wish you well the captor of my soul.
You took another piece of me and I fall further down
Another stab into my chest blood falling to the ground.
I try to grip the slated floor but its become so slippery
Yet forgiving you is like a dream which glides subconsciously.

Eyes will follow her as she walks
Into the little cozy coffee shop.
Tattoos and battered boots adorn
Her body weary from the war.
The battles won are no victory
For the girl that fights one every day.
Black clothing hanging from
Her frail appearing skeleton.
She wishes eyes would fall away
So she could have one peaceful day.
And so she sips her bitter cup
In the corner not looking up.
From the fringes of her gaze
Smiles shreds of hopeful rays.
She shivers and shakes it all away
And closes the door so none can stay.
Her unsteady fingers hastily pour
Another cup to blacken her soul.

Now lies the
traitors
of my
adolescence.

As a smile disappears into the background
A laugh rings out as clear as a bell.
Never have I dove so deeply in
Never have I done a never-do-tell.
The kiss of silence turns my heart
And I flip the pillow over again.
An ambiguous shape follows me
As a little darkened pavement stain.
I lay myself down in my dreams
With a little-known secret held close.
I press its heat against my chest,
My lovely silence that I chose.
Save the lightning in a mason jar
For a gray and rainy day.
The fickle lights are beautiful
And defy the ever-fade.

On a splintered Saturday night I sit on a wood panel floor.
Below it there is cement.
Below that there is bedrock.
Below that is the bones of a better world,
buried and forgotten.
My feet have walked many miles, but not this far.
Today my wisdom stretches to encompass the miles I've walked,
And fails.
Miserably.
I wonder how the bedrock feels,
With the weight of the cement and wood panel floor and me.
More so, I wonder how the bones feel,
Buried and forgotten.
With the light of day such a faraway friend,
Who has not been seen for a hundred thousand years.
How lonely.

I wonder when
Time will realize
The injustice we
Continue to commit
To her.

Your hammer swings blow by blow,
Kicking up dust that falls like snow.
Little does your broken heart know,
The wedge has clipped so very low.

Touching the fragile sparkling ice,
Your fingers freeze to the not so nice.
Caught in the middle of the splice,
Your heavy wings pay the ultimate price.

And so we stand in the cold so bare,
Lying and pretending not to care.
Hammer up high and yours to bear,
When the final blow rings into the air.

Desperately climbing
Rung
By
Rung.
You feel yourself slipping
By
Your
Tongue
Which hangs in the wind
Free
Flying
Dumb.

Who are you to speak
So
****
Loud?
Nobody cares about your
******
Bad
Mouth
So shut up and listen to
What
Really
Counts.

The pain rips through me like we're cut by a knife,
An excruciating burning of my heart ignites.
And I reach for the needle to stitch us back up,
You push it away saying the pain is too much.
You let the wound fester and bleed,
Until there's nothing left of you and me.
A bond sliced clean through by an outside hand,
One I thought was as strong as iron to stand.

Fate is uncanny in such a wild way,
We never know who will fall astray.
I stand alone in patience still,
Waiting for you to cure my ill.

Dearest love I want you to know,
You took my heart when we broke.
A needle and thread just out of reach,
Was all that cost me my mental peace.
Trying in vain to make it disappear,
But the scars between us will always be there.

Inconspicuous as vanity
And as ***** as prostitution
We chant a wild song.
Change, we call for
Peace, we beg for.
But neither arrives in such a
Golden coach
Without the snake which
rides around the neck of
Our future.
Riots erupt into
Desperate silence
As the snake tightens
His grip.
All he says,
He says,
He says:
It is all we can do
For peace.
You, the people,
You, the righteous people,
Pulled the trigger on
Change.
You, the good people
Released the snake
Which your grandparents
Locked up.
I know only
Change.
And you will know only
Peace
From now on.

God save your souls.

Our hearts cry out, empty with despair,
While our robotic pockets whine in our ears.
We watch too much and do too little,
Where too brown stars live lives too fickle.
We say many things, but honesty is lost,
In this perilous climb to the very top.
We create less and waste more,
Begging and borrowing from other worlds.
We go to school to learn good things,
But the subjects winter taught are gone by spring.
We forget too often the good things in life,
So we create a fake one on a screen that's bright.
There are giants and mice in this great big place,
You are too small or too large and don't have a face.
The mask you wear is the only clothing
For the shameless body we are showing.
The machine of the city will stand so tall,
While the people alone slowly fall.

We focus ******* the goal,
Not caring how we score.

The journey doesn't matter and it drips deceit,
Our climb to the cold and golden throne-seat.

Upon our thrones we sit,
Growing fat and unfit.

We waste and wither and dwindle away,
While the sinew of our country crawls further astray.

I am weak
I am the fringes
Of split peaks
Where ***** water runs.

Whenever I get the urge
To inhale my death
The poison sinks into
My shaking chest.
My living time shrinks
With each passing trunk
Of those wrapped bits
Of tar and junk.
On the road to hell
I walk the double yellow
Rattling breath yells
In a silence that bellows.
But every time I say
I'll have my last one today
Tomorrow comes fast
And wins a game I won't play.

The fog curls around
My sickened face
And I don't make a sound
As I drop to the pavement.

Writers are humble beings.
We are not arrogant,
Mighty,
Or triumphant.
We are merely the artisans of words
That will forever exist.
We mold what we already know
Into a black and white painting of what we don't know.
To better understand
Ourselves,
Our world,
And worlds beyond us.
Between keyboard taps,
Pencils that scratch,
And minds that rage on.

We rarely ever write about
Ourselves.
If we do, it is only our perception of ourselves.
We do not brag,
Only tell,
Perspectives,
Views,
Arguments.
We use characters to view the world sometimes.
The morbid words come together nicely.
They say something loud and wonderful,
Yet too often the words are mistaken for
Personal
Feelings.
When that is not the case at all.

We live through our writing
Our imaginations.
That is how we thrive.
Little notebooks are scattered
On bookshelves and desks
Around the house.
Reminders scribbled on lined,
Unlined,
Stationary paper.
Random words,
Quotes,
Brilliant ideas.
Ideas that will be
Unused,
Forgotten,
Misplaced.

But the important part is not
That we are writers.
The important part is
That we have readers
And we owe it  to those
Readers
To put forth the beautifully
blunt,
Excruciating
Truth.

It is said that
The journey
Is more important than
The destination.
So if we take
A journey together
Would it have to end
In a destination?

We could simply
Keep going
Churning our lives
Together
Until we become
A mere blend
Of our personalities
Our souls
Our lives.

We could be
Anything we want
To be.

But the journey
Ended in a destination
That I wasn't in.
It ended
With you and her.
As I sit
Disconnected
Detached
Broken.

Watching the screen
Of a tragedy
With no voice
To stop Shakespearian
Madness.

Sometimes the smallest words have the largest meanings;
Love
Hate
and we abuse them so violently.
Fear
Bravery
So I will ask you to ponder
Know
Believe
Which sentences you could have shortened today.

A hand with an iron grip takes your neck,
Claws slipping holes in your tender skin.
The stab in your throat with an ice cold knife
Splitting you down, down, to the scar left by the very cord that gave you life.
You are wide, wide open, so vulnerable.
Your unruly beating heart is oh so exposed.
The glint of steel, push,
It's simple, really.
You implode inwards on yourself.
Warm and cold sensations collide everywhere.
You are broken.
You see yourself on the cold tile floor.
Blackened redness, as dark as your soul,
It pools around you.
It is warm, but your body is cold.
*Fear.
     Fear.
          Fear.

Hands, they shake
gentle now
upon the wood
of the window sill.

Cold air
and the clouds
of breathing in
and pushing out.

The dust and decay
it lingers here
a cool blanket
and deafened ear.

A single tear drops
from an invisible eye
hardly leaving a trace
and left there to dry.

Breathe in the poison
which floats in the air.
Sour,
we taste it,
yet it remains there.

The suicide note
she wrote
she wrote
sat upon a desk.

The blood dripping down
to the ground
to the ground
Just like the tears she wept.

The dawn of night
and light
and light
Hits her pallid skin.

As she sits alone
skin and bones
skin and bones
A shadow upon her chair.

And the waves they lap the bow like gentle applause,
encouraging,
taunting,
tasting,
what failure has yet to come.
The current pushes on,
a torment.

You laugh,
my deary,
but look below,
the sharks' fin
does not slow,
as he follows you on your dreadful path,
anticipating
it will be your last.

And the waves they slap at the bow,
like a spanking to a naughty child.

And you grin,
you row on,
you just don't see,
The end is near.
Upon this unknown body of water.

Body

what body?

My body

tired and weary

Your body

beaten and broken

Our body

forever to stay split

Their body

*stronger

Sometimes I have a thought-provoking question.
Sometimes I feel the need to ask.
Sometimes the question gets shoved back in my face.
And sometimes it is answered unexpectedly.
But the beauty of the question is not that it is answered.
The beauty of the question is the question itself.
So I ask you,
Do you have a question sometimes?

The starting kiss tasted sour,
I tried to spit you out.
To no avail, I struggled here.

And you whispered before I could shout:
nobody cares, nobody hears, you will always be alone

PUSH me to the floor and beat away my hope.

The irony is clear.

Crystal, crystal, on the floor, a million tiny tears.

Diamond blade, unbreakable, cutting my consciousness.

you took me prisoner, my dear, without even locking the latch.

PUSH me into the corner, now, drill away my naivety.

I keep waiting, waiting, my patience drawing closed.

Why won't Karma eat you now?

He ate me a long time ago.

little droplets
falling down
splashing at my feet

seconds count
a backwards march
never mine to keep

fascination
tries my patience
as my heart does weep

from little holes
punched in me
like a morbid need

colors flow
across my skin
permanence is real

because i am lost
please help me so
between the lines you read

i cry to you
my helpless voice
silent against the screams

society sews
my tender lips
aching for the speech

the one that slides
from my arms and back
like a paint bottle leak

pretty to those
ignorant
of the addicting plea