Tears stinging, running away from me,
Eager to be off my face,
Pooling between the keys, 
Kicked into dance by desperate fingers.

                    Lilac scars in neat horizontal lines;
                   My heart uses them as a notepad,
                  Writing invisible words,
                Each traced in pretty italics on pale skin.

It aches, physcially, lost inside me,
 Pleading forgiveness,
It's sorry,
 That I'm not good enough.

                My confidence lacks intelligence,
                      It likes to stand,
                In the middle of the motorway,
                      During rush hour.

                               Cold knows where to find me,
                   I think it's allies with disatisfaction.


My eyes forget how to sleep,
   Seeing pictures,
In the shadows playing on the wall,
 They're depicting the bullets my pillow predicts.

                  Why should I deserve to love you,
          I ask into the silence,
When I can't even 
                love 
                  myself?