if the scars I wear
are proof of life.
why must they appear in thin air
by sleight of hand under the knife?

if the scars I wear
are proof of life.

I have lived.
I have lived.
I have lived through hell long enough to deserve to heal.
.....

Sometimes I get mad
because of how sad
you make me
and my family.
I don’t know why
you want us to cry
and hate you
but I promise you
it’s true
you son of a gun
you’re the reason
I run away
and up
because you’re just
a grump
and you’ll never be more than
a lump
on my face
staring back at me
heres the truth
Im squeezing your head
and blowing your brains.
You’re the sick cells and bacteria.
You brought on this hysteria
and nonsense.
So here’s to you
and your cocky
confidence.

i want to write, but there's a block in the way. i want to write, but it's making white space - right away.

But what if what our mind ignores, is in fact,
exactly what our soul adores?
.
.
.
.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.

settling on my comforter spread
i wish at night you lay your head
deep down

inside me

a muse pay their dues
but just not how you think
they can't recover what they spent
with paper and dried ink....

[YOU! Please, finish the thought in the comments below]