Sliptheflitch

in this world gone mad you promise me relief and on your brow is the burden of your words, in your eyes the desire to fulfill    aren't you frightened that I will ruin you? My favorite toys were always broken My favorite bones were always bent   My favorite knees were always bruised, and my willing throat ate at the sadness              swallowed it without any thought, vomited generations, smiles and tears into an uncaring shitstorm. I could birth a nation with these beliefs i could set it on fire with hatred and futility my soul is quiet these days sometimes I feel sad, and sometimes I don't think i'm me that i must be

One day my tongue will have an expiration date, and my heart, my bloody fucking insides, will go into some tragic child, some broken woman, some lonely man.            So I appreciate my hips, my eyes, my liver. I love my fingers, the way they can stretch across skin and scatter the light.                        They will talk, they may even shake in anger, pulse with expectation and delight              they will write words that bite, that love, hate, and inspire        because Inspiration doesn't come from outside.                inspiration is a fucking weapon.    its in my head and my hands, in my chest and my throat

you believe that you are weak. because at night you rock yourself whisper that tomorrow will be better even though yesterday's tomorrow has failed you still, there is a dim hope burning in your eyes you are stronger than you think But every evening, you will lift your battered wrists to the heavens Hoping that the pale scars will be like a roadmap to god if you wait long enough, they will guide him to you down the thin path that you have set for him because you once heard that his path is narrow- but god is not in the air he is not in the trees outside of your window he is not in the places that you can see him, because

Women have their vixen smiles,  and men will use their roguish wiles …just to be the one that you let in…   words are made to break our hearts and souls were made to fall apart (and life is just a game we never win) because my lips were made for kissing and my words were made for twisting   and the bruising on my knees was done by you my clothes were made for ripping  (but these hands weren’t made for ticking,) and my intentions were designed to misconstrue. This smile was formed for your dismay, my thoughts were made to lead astray-    and fingertips were made to pass the time pain is there to be a gu