I speak in poems

and sleep alone

under a pile of blankets and

a broken soul

 

My chest aches for revolution

my bones for evolution

and in every tear I cry

there is an entire ocean

 

My skin is cracked and covered in

idealistic magazine clippings and modern sins

I paint over my scars

and hold myself together with safety pins

 

My lungs are blue

from singing to you

but you never care enough 

to hear the tune

 

Let alone to stop and admire

the torn masterpiece sprinkled with glittering desire

and cherry red blood mixed with glue

that I worked so hard to make just for you.