Spindle fingers weaving sick embroideries.
My mind numb and empty of empathy.
Swallowing my narcissism and sleeplessly starving for clarity.
... in need to break free of these chains that dismember my thoughts.
Routine comforts no longer satisfy, but what will make the pieces fit?
Compelled to aggression, I'm still silent...I can't breathe on my own.
Whats it going to take to make me speak?
I'm not ready to leave my broken childhood behind.
I pick up the pieces and plaster them to my limbs.
My hearts locked in thorns,keeping me away from the passion I so desire.
Destroy the confinement that keeps-eye over my beat-less ticker.
Maybe then, you'll have your monster.
8-10-09
p.s. Toxic if consumed by hate.
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