the pieces of me
are not tender
and eyes darkened
skin so grey
as its been
over a year,
since I left
this prison

I have sores
of sleeping
with
the false
of wishing,

You holler
and wish
for my death
But Jesus
has
other methods
for here....

You
and
pretentiously
Mr Jones
so slowly
and acres
he's full
and unravels
as the tide pulls
and pummeling
is your spirit

of those teases
and the bullies
made you
into one such as him...
the mirror of fearing
of seeing the phantom

But angelic
are silently
tears fallin.....