February 12,2011

It never gets old,

The same bull s**t of being sold.

I'm a doormat, a depraved beauty

Drowning in tragic depression

Wrapped up in wounded treachery.

Oh i wish i could ignore me.

Do not touch me.

Do not read me.

Do not see me.

Do not me.

Spare me

The lonely beauty of street scum,

Bitter cold monotony blistering and

Gushing about prodding eyes;

Wicked complications that are only

Masking a smokey crank haze

Slurring my cognitive promise,

Surrounded by mirrors and razor blades.

Deep inside i am shaking.

I am completely and utterly afraid.

and even worse,

I know i am not safe with "the monster".

Desperate for my release.

Still there is some masochistic piece of me that agreed.