The static wraps itself around
my throat like silver wires
Beating on themselves to force
out a ****** tune
Simply to write a score
To scorn my troubled mind
Scorching my self hate
on the dotted line

For truly pain is a watermark
none can hide away
on this marred canvas that is I.
Stained and plastered
in confused brush strokes of youth.
As if to truly define
the meaningless
The adoration
for something I'd never feel.

No, no veins weren't drained in
vain of life and
left to wilt on the window sill

yet still I'd claw into myself
and search for a world I can
Capture on film
To have a choice whether to
corrupt or delete
Or drown itself in whiskey
and car horns

Reverberating it's cords
And their fingertips
Across fifty shades of cracks
Guiding my hands
Clearing my mind
Starting once more

I am a piece of work
Incomplete