New Poison.

You're challenged Sir,
That is what I'm willing to believe.
It's what I hope for, I'm sure,
Confidence.
How self-defining
Of Mr. Self-Destruct.
Redefine "Me."
Before I become understanding
Of what it's like to never breathe.
It that so unlike,
"Me."?
So uninspiring, I'm sure.

I'm working on your body,
Like it's my secret art.
As if.

You are my movement,
Turning me like the wind.
Should I be that kite, or abandoned plastic bag?
Or should I spread my crooked wings
And grace the world with my earthly departure?

I'm sure your body pollutes the earth,
While flies make festivals and feasts
Within my forever fading skin.

Could I be simply an overpowering regret?
Or just a piece
In the list of things that went wrong
Within that night?

How sure does he find success
When success is so self-assured?

And rocks make scarce patterns of beatles and bus.

I am lost,
Within my old creation.
And it feels, fine.
So fine.

Pictures of you,
I'm sure I'm dreaming of you.
So simply, really.

Mistake, repeating.
Becomes persistent
And then to routine.

Reflections then,
To simply become so self-defining.

I am something simple,
But, I am not, simply:
"I am."
Or rather, more complex,
"I was something."

Ashes turn into diamonds,
But ash fades from skin,
And people crumble like sand.
I hold such a corrupted heart,
With grasps and scratches on skin and ribs.

Cut yourself,
To ensure yourself.
But constantly reflect the instinct of survival
Replaced only by denial
Of dreamers.
Such optimism.

Such perverse optimism.

I think I have the idea of you.