I keep dreaming, that I’ll wake up with you next to me
again, but I wake only to find my tears from so many nights
before.

My angst is expressed in blood stains and burnt flesh, that
are meant to take away the heartache and the pain.

Wanting someone to come and fix me, to try and get inside
and figure me out, to be the first and only to care that
much. 

Pick up bits of my broken heart and shove them back in as if
they fit, like we were meant for this.

Slipping more, playing our old song again and again, I take
a pill with every passing line, washing it down with a bit
of wine, your favorite old brew.

The sickness rolls in like dense harbor fog, and a thick
haze of ungodliness lays its self onto my skin and seeps
inside.

Worthless whore, the words resonate in my ears, the last
words you said to me as you slung me to the floor, wiping my
lipstick off your mouth.

I  pull at my hair and scratch my face, goring myself
because I can’t bare to  see this horrible, cheated shell
that was once me.

Pock marks and huge caverns of self loath cover my limp,
tragic body. Failure is written all over me for everyone to
read.

Sinister hearts with saddened facades stare coldly out at my
lifeless being, for I am no more, forever a lost cause.

Then I rise up once more, and brush past you out the door. 
Next time you are out walking, look for corpuses like me who
line the streets.




Catt