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xaiv vos Oct 2017
you wear your father’s guilt
and your mother’s golden cross

searching for a savior in every psychedelic trance
chasing spirits in cheap liquor
just to bottle up your own

you wear your mother’s tears
and your father’s favorite watch

and only remind yourself of the time
when you felt like you’ve had enough
and crash at any house that welcomes you

you have your father’s voice
and your mother’s blue eyes

of deep depression
and rippling madness
observant of every detail

you have your mother’s heart
and your father’s lack-there-of

passionate for all the wrong reasons
driven to tear down everyone around
just to distract from your own destruction
xaiv vos Sep 2018
harsh lessons came with lesions on my skin
i spoke too little or i spoke too much
i didn't speak soon enough

harsh lessons taught to save me from sin
thinking too broad and wearing clothes too thin
crucified for a peace of mind

harsh lessons left a lasting impression
memories flashing into my vision
blinding my traumatized eyes

biting my blasphemous tongue
blood is thicker than water
i choked on chastity
xaiv vos Nov 2017
you claim that I'm a masterpiece

I wonder if it's because I let you study every layer
and better yet
let you leave your mark

I handed you my heart in the early spring
carving your initials in my bark before I could fully grow leaves

I let you storm my temple
and graffiti my walls
making yourself feel right at home

I felt no need to stop you
completely captivated by your ability to paint me in every color

you could claim me as your masterpiece
xaiv vos Mar 2018
I was a welcome mat for your muddy and blistered feet
an open entrance for your troubled mind
a shelter for your shattered heart on nights where the silence became too loud

but soon, you took your refuge for granted,
my view of you over time became slanted
your ***** dishes in the sink were quicker to clean than being able to see what you were doing to me

a friendship that once felt like home became broken
and I became a pit stop that was conveniently placed on your
daily route
and you only paid in self-doubts

you were a wounded traveler that could never give, but could always take
and always left the next morning with pieces of my own sanity
I needed to lock my doors before I ended up losing everything

— The End —