Daft fingers trace scars old and new-unsure which is which. I wish only to mend shattered skin, batterd bones, but most of all a wounded heart that bleeds in my grasp.
Porcelain scars upon alabaster stone reflect my own damaged body, yet I bare them proudly before you. Judge me, poke me, prod me, but please, don't hate me. Fate has been cruel, yet I offer you it all.
Lips brush, tears fall, for my weary broken doll. A name murmured passed metal peirced lips, I soar inside myself.
Yet, my wings, wide and most definitely not white, arch and ache for flight. Judge me not on their colour, for they must be stained with the sins of my heart...
Will you join me, my precious insanity? Fickle futtle words, double edged meanings, my tongue however is not forked.
Merely wishing to fly, will you join me? To sky's gentle wind embrace. Will you join me?
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Please don't bury me... for i'm not dead yet.
ReplyDeleteI look like a zombie, but I swear...
I don't eat brains...
I have no wings, nor can I fly, but i'll join you if you can carry me along.
I drown in the sunlight, but I soar in your arms and everything is ok.
My insanity is obvious... I belong in an asylum, but with you ... I am normal...
Alive...
Kiss me and let me be yours