For you, you seem alone, and I’ve known many like you
I’ve lived with many like you.
And I feel like you
Till I am not like you
And asked a question of how to see you.
The woven lungs and snowflakes hide the strain
And as you drain
The stains of mental drain is a blood bath
It cleans and gleams on the reflection of my iris
The expectations of the tenderness of skin and meat are so unlikely
It doesn’t tear but rather
They can’t bite the fact that this is what I am
The inedible definitions does not nurture their minds
Its dry and sticky and far from replenish
Swallow my teeth to see if it grows in thier head
And seasons bring the ripest one of all
Till again I am covered in my own blood.