Concrete shell, trauma had tremendously taken its toll.

Conciousness severely severed, stirring, wishing for serenity.

Contortionist women, weaving already woven wires of self doubt.

Constantly humiliating himself for harmful handfuls of unreciprocated love.

Conditioned by past partners propaganda that he'll never be a perfect person.

Concealing every tear torn, from his overused tear ducts.

Conceding to the fact that he'd rather be hurt repeatedly, than risk roaming remote roads alone, too afraid to stand in his own reflection.

At least tell me you love me,
While you tighten my noose.

******* a kiss,
As my body jerks.

Show me your tears,
While I fight for oxygen.

Let me feel your warmth,
Hold my hand as mine fades.

Now watch me swing,
My body dancing in the wind.

Hang my picture.

Please hang it crooked.

A reminder,
That there was nothing perfect about me.

Nothing at all.