(no subject)
Written a few months back.
The only things that can break are bones.
Your body, your muscles, your skin.
It tears. It rips. It bleeds.
The heart is no bone, the heart cannot break.
Wear and tear. Rough. Right? Tough, right?
But despite these corrections I made in spite, the light doesn’t shine so bright, not tonight.
I stand up sitting on this fight. I rant while I’m spitting on this fight.
I wonder if she’s tight, ha. Wonder if she might, ha. For these I take on this plight, and for more, I risk this tear.
But my heart, it does not break.
Jack the Ripper. I wonder if he was a lousy tipper. A normal man or a slicer…a dicer, of women who could be nicer?
This hypocritical burden is black and white. I am her shades of gray, the temptations that lay, and apparently for this I must pay. There’s a price, like a head full of lice I’m attacked by black and white mice. What’s next? A film splice, to connect the rest.
But a heart cannot break.
It bleeds, like the words that she feeds. Doing these deeds through the beads and the seeds of the teased, the diseased. But this word applied only through context of the denied, the sinful pride and luscious bride to confide in a scandalous glide before the knot’s tied.
But this is all through her eyes. Do not get me wrong now, for I am open to doors on each floor that I adore on all fours, and blasphemy is the last you’ll see.
But my mind still sits cross-legged and flabbergasted.
I don’t want it anymore.
My heart cannot break.
My body cannot break.
But it can tear, it can rip, and it can bleed.
The only things that can break are bones.
Your body, your muscles, your skin.
It tears. It rips. It bleeds.
The heart is no bone, the heart cannot break.
Wear and tear. Rough. Right? Tough, right?
But despite these corrections I made in spite, the light doesn’t shine so bright, not tonight.
I stand up sitting on this fight. I rant while I’m spitting on this fight.
I wonder if she’s tight, ha. Wonder if she might, ha. For these I take on this plight, and for more, I risk this tear.
But my heart, it does not break.
Jack the Ripper. I wonder if he was a lousy tipper. A normal man or a slicer…a dicer, of women who could be nicer?
This hypocritical burden is black and white. I am her shades of gray, the temptations that lay, and apparently for this I must pay. There’s a price, like a head full of lice I’m attacked by black and white mice. What’s next? A film splice, to connect the rest.
But a heart cannot break.
It bleeds, like the words that she feeds. Doing these deeds through the beads and the seeds of the teased, the diseased. But this word applied only through context of the denied, the sinful pride and luscious bride to confide in a scandalous glide before the knot’s tied.
But this is all through her eyes. Do not get me wrong now, for I am open to doors on each floor that I adore on all fours, and blasphemy is the last you’ll see.
But my mind still sits cross-legged and flabbergasted.
I don’t want it anymore.
My heart cannot break.
My body cannot break.
But it can tear, it can rip, and it can bleed.