Dreams that compose an ever-so-distant me
Wrap around in a cloak of contingency
Mirrored walls guard my heart
Deflecting and rejecting all chances of happy
Scared to feel anything other than pain
But here I remain
In an everfloating chasm of insignificant being
Told little whispers of care and admiration
That I wish not to believe
Denial of just a phase or passing memory
Afraid to accept someone who could be close to me
Because all who get too close leave
Abandonment from the crazed demeanor of a madwoman
Who does all the mental disintegration
With just a change in how her eye bats
Or a motion in how her smile twists and forms
She caves in the feelings and in-cases them with rock
All while telling you it will be ok
Comfort, her best quality, is something she never feels
Demanding a select crippled tones of look
She can't break a psychotic hold on herself
Oh, she wants to be free away from sickness
Free from instability and sense of time
Free from self esteem and bitter opinions
The abuse victimized her twice
Once in the process and twice in her living
It made her afraid to have depth
Or possess an opinion that was different in style
Slashed her sense of humor and chained trust
became a prude and too responsble for her years
So she takes drugs and pills to loosen up and
Be the girl unaffected.
With pleasure, she can please
She'll get down on her knees and attract
But on her knees she is closer to the ground
Where she got hit and cried and whimpered
Dragged and told she was useless
The floor is where she sleeps, as a symbol of death
And like a phoenix her ashes shift but
Never reborn into a majestic splendor
Inadequate and crass, lower $1400 a month lower class
Does she possess the greatest value?
Martyr of a childhood, sacrificial to her dedication
Desperately saving others because she needs saving,
From herself.
I've been too numb, cryptic, vague, loveless
Too dramatic, useless, crippled, sick
Always thrown and never held close
With strings of music acting as my marionette puppet strings
Winged thoughts and an atheistic prayer
For the junkie who cries she's dead
In layers of presumed happiness and elegance
Bragging that her depression deepens past what you see
Her shallowness acts the addiction
To another day of texting the people
Who are worth more than what their parents call them
And as I hug to comfort cries,
I believe in all that they say I am not.
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