Steel Wool

Knowing that you'll never know is a comfort, the padding in the little cell.
Knowing that you'll never know is what protects from the inevitable.
What you'll never know is what put me here.
knowing that this will eventully go is both a relife and sad,
like letting go of an old favorite sweater that served you well,
when in reality it was made of steel wool,
scracthed at your skin till it was raw and bloody,
but you wore it anyway
because it kept you warm.
Thats all that was ever wanted, you know.
Something to keep warm with.
No matter how damaging
or how much pain it caused,
it's warm,
and thats what matters.
Thats whats needed.
but metal is cold, only picks up your body heat.
An kiss with no meaning, a touch with no tenderness, an embrace with no love.
A cold sweater full of holes and made of metal, hoping, waiting for it to warm up.
Steel wool scraching at your body, tearing apart your skin and flesh till you can see your own bones,
but by then it dosen't hurt.
You're just cold and waiting to get warm.
Waiting for some peace.
Waiting for some happy feeling, somewhere within your conciousnss.
Waiting, but nothing ever happens. T
he steel keeps scracthing, rubbing away at you, til you are no more than shreads of flesh and blood soaked into the carpet.
and stil cold.
That's love for ya.