A life untitled,
A smoke screen to reality,
Rain water floods a broken heart,
Cleansing the pockets unseen.
To misery I am entitled,
Frothing, foaming, thirsty for it,
The bright lights I thought I’d seen,
Were falling stars, dying lights and dreams.
The hunger for perspective,
The need to cut out the dead tissue,
To feel, to breath, to know I’m alive.
The guilt and shame,
The pressure to be more than I was created for,
To perfect my every molecule,
To form a courteous and loving heart,
Out of this dying flesh.