It rained when you left.
And when I tore at the paper
I thought there would've been a gift
Since you are leaving me untapered.
My heart has no lift
And my love is unwavered.

If I drown completely,
My throat will unclog the sewage
That I consumed so quickly.
I will try to live a new image,
And I must pretend I'm not sickly
For you were a privilege.

To love, I must pretend
The holy scalpel I wield
Will create a reality to which I can bend.
Any monstrosities will be repealed:
A means to an end.
So then, the organs are concealed.

How can you look at my pruny hands
And not know that I've been carrying my heart?
For the rain did not drench man
And I did not fail to start.
The blood was in demand
For the fallen arts.

To feel, I must convince myself
The feeling is only within me,
And not surrounding myself.
Hearts will drop either way, I can see
Pain diverts its will towards ourselves
In this sick game of chance.

This unfairness has given me hope:
One day I must rise
Above this precarious tightrope
That I put myself up for a prize
So I can trip into a downward slope
For I will have their eyes

Sad and sorry.
I bury myself in this endless hole.
Pain and worry.

I can't see myself whole.
Tears and fury
My ego sees this through, for itself.

That's what I've become: my ego
Invincible due to other's dying for me
I look and spectate
I take a picture of a starving child
And I leave him to die.
I consume other's experiences and I think of them as myself.

Vicariously, I break into their home
And leave it in shambles.
Just as I did in the first two stanzas
I become beyond what I am capable