I am eyelids on strings A face composed of stained skin.
Too close to everything. Too lost to let it sink in.
Now kiss me with your teeth, lose your fingers in the skin of my back while you search for the spine I've been told I lack.
I'm sorry but you're just a reflection
just another bed sore, self inflicted
another broken mirror carving expressions
a pile of white lies held in dishonest connections
And I'm told it's because of repression
that I hate feeling stuck more than regressing
and now I can't tell the difference
and an honest confession
I am just another scorched earth, another parched heart. The fields I've claimed are all weathered and stark. Now I'm just another drunk in a choir pretending to preach, "everything means nothing to me".