Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god


Never did I mean to stab
At my veins in the name
Of someone else, but the
Options were minute, and I
Had shaky hands begging for
A way out, a better way.
You have to have a heart
In order for it to wrench and
Break, and you have to have
A soul to be beautiful and
I have neither.
So plain, the words hurt as
They cut through the shell
To hit me where it counts.
I sent you thoughts and words,
I wish I could take them
All back, pretend that I never
Tried to pretend I was special
When I was simply worse
Than average; I was ruined.
And ruined people can't love,
Only pour their feelings
Onto paper and pretend it's
The ears of someone who cares.
A good imagination is only that,
Like a child playing a crule joke,
I am misshapen like clay,
Hardened and cold and unable
To be chiseled and molded
Into something beautiful,
Something angelic; I am nothing
More than ripped pieces of
Paper swept away by wind
And whispers, never to be
Seen or heard from again.


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