You Have Enough Lies to be A Human, You Have Enough Lines To Be A Book.
My veins grow bold with sun shined blue, with hints of ivory;
The scars are left from something far from simple luxury.
Reliving failures lure me in, with fingertips so gentle;
The things I fear, the things I love, are never sentimental.
The pages fill, the ashes fall, and I'm left here again;
That body there, so sane, so rare, was meant to break and bend.
And so it begins, these things you call "curses";
Beat the warmth of your searing touch and lightly coat these verses.
The scars are left from something far from simple luxury.
Reliving failures lure me in, with fingertips so gentle;
The things I fear, the things I love, are never sentimental.
The pages fill, the ashes fall, and I'm left here again;
That body there, so sane, so rare, was meant to break and bend.
And so it begins, these things you call "curses";
Beat the warmth of your searing touch and lightly coat these verses.