MP ( / )


The glass is embedded in my flesh

I've tried to pull it out

It seems to become a part of me

Familiar Friendly

But I want it out

Disgustingly foreign

And breaking,

I hate it, I loathe it,

Yet I love it,

I cannot let it go

But neither can I welcome

May the day no longer eat?

I, its Promethean experiment,

Wish not to wake up in pain,

Greeting the sun with fear,

And the moon with grief,

A wound reopened,

Every time I regain consciousness.

Death or Salvation

I care not which comes

Only that I am finished


A parasite.

It may kill or save me.

How much longer can it last?

I don't know how long I can wait.

It is no desire of mine to die,

Simply to have peace within my person,

By whatever means.

It is my dearest wish.

The cleansing must begin.

Or else, I am remembered a whore.

Dirt, sweat, blood, slime,

Pouring down my contaminated self like rivers

The impurity of myself must be hidden.

Scrub, Scrub.

Wash away the stain.

No difference.

My worth is tarnished.

Prayers fall at busy angels doors

No time for an insignificance

Angels with minds elsewhere

On lovers true

On cleanliness and wholesomeness

Not a worthless nothing

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