Fleshed Out

Flesh, ripped apart at seams.

And how it gleams like art.

Every meaty chunk that drips with scarlet cream.

It almost seems too fake

To take a smile in at what it means.

You've lost the will

To face the tearing of your soul

And for that do the things wannabe bold

Like prick yourself and slide the metal edge that never lies.

Watch it sink beneath your veins and cry at such a passion.

Slit the finest line

Across your skin divine

In hopes to bleed out something pure

And call it yours.

A spirited azure amidst the red

Lies dormant to your eyes

While all you do is sigh,

In hopes that someone sees the tears within your cries.

And all your fears

Buckle under the knives you twist

For all the times you feel your pride contrived inside its own abyss.

Fleshed out in a pity stance

You never once did try to dance when no one looked

And never grabbed a book unless they saw you learn.

Wonder then, the reasons that you're spurned by us?

Or is it spurned by you?

The very essence you ignored and burned you black and blue.

Feed these streets no sewage more

And feel the core you emptied and now dare explore

With just some soulless blade.

Feel the robberies you made upon yourself.

Some silly vandalism in a fruitless scandal...

Now grab the handle

Do a 360 and rip more muscle out than you can handle.

Spasm as your fountain purples at your face:

Jumping up in spurting streams like all the hurdles that you never chased.

Gurgle now... You're lost for words.

And urged into a snowy state

While fingers pale and thoughts sedate...

Thoughts that feed off guilty joy

And bring you to a buckle,

Asking what you did accomplish?

Not a goddamn thing.

I only hope your fucking blood doesn't leave rings around my sink.

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