The wires in your skin are so taut.
I could make music
If I tried.
Your words charmingly burn my
Harmless roses, paralyzed.
Whether you fathom me or not,
I’m aware of
The ill will that you’ve got
Fermenating in the still
Above your lips.
The idea of becoming addicted to
Watching porcelain crack;
Feeling every day like a frayed relapse.
I’m not alone in the weird game,
I’m fighting all of my own pain.
Let myself and its abhorrent idealism go.
I’ll be thankful once I know
A world beyond you.