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Nothing ever came so easy as the manipulation of her word. |
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Cold and humiliated, i tried to portray this mess. |
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I should fear it. |
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I should give it all to them and be done with it. |
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I fear he maybe found a use. |
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A meaning or comprehension. |
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Some sort of new birth or late coming death. |
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Who's eyes will govern this judgment? |
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It's just not my place to judge who tried or to condemn who cried. |
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I want to be her. |
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I want all of the answers. |
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A crusty and scratchy mess shielded only by burlap and the satisfaction of knowing. |
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But i know nothing. |
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I am the impostor. |
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The fake bastard holding on to dreams. |
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I want all the answers. |
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I won't wince at each neck's snap nor help at the hint of hope, i'll just lie here wet and willing to provoke you. |
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Still no closure. |
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Cold is so damn trite and evil was never glamorous. |
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Still it sells so fucking buy it as politics mean nothing now. |
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As it's already in their heads. |
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In their hands it resides a mark. |
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So i leave mine as well to finally be picked apart. |
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Dissected and forgotten. |
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Ignored at best. |
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But it's still a mark. |
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She gave me rope and i climb. |
