You were the sin after my heart,

I was the rescue to your soul. 

Mend the kinks I've repressed

and bring truth from past haunts. 

When does it end? 

The suffering that tries to besiege me.

Or is it but a shadow hovering my existence;

meshing plagues. 

Show yourself to spill secrets in whispers,

as the echoes will chime distant cries.

Should you mold me out of clay, 

it should become your cursed delusion.

Now let your naked eyes mend fragility,

from the pieces of blind thoughts. 

Should I walk you home again,

let it be a desolate map scratched with black and white. 



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Picked to Pieces


The coating underneath

Eats away at surface cracks

You peel layers of me

As if I'm scabby flesh 


We work on me

Like we're dissecting the abnormal

Pushing and pulling 

Vulnerability grows


Haunting trails of voices

Linger in the open world

Soon growing hands

Upon my neck to grasp


Eyes too tired to be vibrant 

You've given me a sorrowful glow

Dark truths, a halo for my head

Misery flaunts an awful tone