knives

To talk of love makes targeted your heart –

Weakness that constitutes showing your soul;

The colours within will scare friends apart:

A stranger, a love, and all who enroll

In this hellish dark landscape called life.

I wear this armor to protect what’s dear:

Then iambic pentameter that’s rife

Inside my chest – pumping with urgent fear –

That irregular beats will cause unrest,

Choking my soul as vines wrapped around

Abandoned pillars or arches that manifest

From Man’s neglected construction abound –

And nothing will stop this trembling idea

From infecting all parts of my being;

What’s once a health mind, now a stria –

Grooves and cuts, a reminder of fleeing –

Of attempting to forget who I am –

How noone can truly understand me,

Because every time I open the dam –

What protects me from a premature glee,

Thinking that I am accepted and seen

By those I believe I can fully trust –

And I’m shown to be a fool with now chine –

Left tearful and alone – in a disgust

Towards myself and who I thought I could be.