I wake up
Each morning,
Head to my closet,
And arm myself
With clothes
Thick as brick walls.
I rummage
Through various
Pairs of greeve-like
Pants
Looking for
The right foundation
On which I
Will build
The day's
Exoskeleton.
Fix my hair
Like the rest
Of mankind.
Hair that
Acts as the cloak
That ascribes me
To anonimity.
Before I leave
I put on the
Weight of
My outer person,
The one which
I have carefully
Built out of
Various yous
And none of me.
The skin
That I Have worn
To see my soul
Forlorn.
I go, parade myself
Like a sentinel
Emblazoned
With all the
Merits;
Look and behold
A hero that
Beckons to all who pass
A hero who
Hides all the dross
Of the Inside.
The inside
of whatever is left
Of my
Dying kingdom.
I go as a bastion
With jutted spears  
And sharpened pikes
Wounding those
Who advance
Whether in peace
Or in strife.
No, I will not
Let anyone
Through the gates
Of my starving
King.

All my life
I was being
Built as a
Stronghold.
Father, as a mason,
Taught me
That strength
Is measured
Through how
Much pressure
My structure
Can endure.
Mother, as an artisan,
Raised me
As a dam
That will not break.
Taught me
That my worth
Is measured in the
Volumes that I can keep.
Suffering be now
The mortar
That binds all my griefs
Together.
Pain, *****
Barricades
Around my thirsting
Prince.
Comrade,
Stay as a facade;
Hide the muck
That have accumulated
Throughout
The years.

Lover,
break me down.
Strip me of all
My armor,
Break down the walls.
Turn my spears
Into soft dandelion *****.
Wade through the tar
And see
Through the veil.
Unseam
All my scars;
Bleed me dry
Until you reach my core.
See me for
Who I am.
Witness the king
That I have
deprived.
Caress the face
Of the prince
That I have denied.
Satiate my famished spirit,
Oh, you, lover of my soul.

mum always breaks my heart
she always knows how to tear me apart

she can very cheerily be so nice
the wrong word can make her turn to ice

most of the time she's distant
solid, fortified, distinctly resistant

but intent on my every word choice
note the changing of tone in her voice

sometimes she's odd, accepting;
after two days she's bored and back to neglecting

searching out 'wrongs', use to ream me
she knows the exact strings to pull and unseam me

and it hurts even worse when I see that she tries
she always gets my hopes up & dashes them in front of my eyes

   then she goes into her fantasy land
   we're Lori&Ror;; Gilmore, talking men

I try to play along; it's hilarious to see
that as hip as she likes to think she is, she's as bad at this as me

I now kneel upon the barren earth of my desolate garden,
Clutching a soiled ***** with these scraped, fractured hands.
With this ugly design to dig up each raw fragment of my wounded self,
Dread and terror encircle me, like phantoms lurking in the depths of night,
Their icy grip growing even tighter with each passing breath.
I tear through every inch of my flesh, peeling skin to the bone,
Until the decaying corpus of my inner child unveils itself.
My cries reverberate, and my voice thunders through the shadows of the relentless night
Upon the discovery of such a harrowing crime by my soul.
I flee in pursuit of aid, chasing the promise of never returning back to the cursed garden,
Yet, the pitiless tempests of life redirect my course back to that sombre place,
Like a puppeteer’s hand steering a marionette, destined to revisit the obscurity once more.
Oh, how I long to pluck out mine eyes,
Unseam these veins, and drain my earthly vessel of its crimson essence,
So that I can cradle the petite, half-rotten body lying there, within my yearning arms.
But let me just lie here, until I am lifted up to another world,
One bathed in luminescence, adorned with gilded splendour and ethereal beauty of dreams.