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Fleshed Out
Flesh, ripped apart at seams.
And how it gleams like art.
Every meaty chunk that drips with scarlet cream.
It almost seems too fake
To take a smile in at what it means.
You've lost the will
To face the tearing of your soul
And for that do the things wannabe bold
Like prick yourself and slide the metal edge that never lies.
Watch it sink beneath your veins and cry at such a passion.
Slit the finest line
Across your skin divine
In hopes to bleed out something pure
And call it yours.
A spirited azure amidst the red
Lies dormant to your eyes
While all you do is sigh,
In hopes that someone sees the tears within your cries.
And all your fears
Buckle under the knives you twist
For all the times you feel your pride contrived inside its own abyss.
Fleshed out in a pity stance
You never once did try to dance when no one looked
And never grabbed a book unless they saw you learn.
Wonder then, the reasons that you're spurned by us?
Or is it spurned by you?
The very essence you ignored and burned you black and blue.
Feed these streets no sewage more
And feel the core you emptied and now dare explore
With just some soulless blade.
Feel the robberies you made upon yourself.
Some silly vandalism in a fruitless scandal...
Now grab the handle
Do a 360 and rip more muscle out than you can handle.
Spasm as your fountain purples at your face:
Jumping up in spurting streams like all the hurdles that you never chased.
Gurgle now... You're lost for words.
And urged into a snowy state
While fingers pale and thoughts sedate...
Thoughts that feed off guilty joy
And bring you to a buckle,
Asking what you did accomplish?
Not a goddamn thing.
I only hope your fucking blood doesn't leave rings around my sink.
