These needles pricking skins
Red ink spilt across my palms
Drenched in the toxins, the talent, The tantrums.
Trying to vanish the vision of the rarest of them all
Through faulting and twisting
Precious perceptions withdraw
Sliding out of my grip into another's missing piece,
Bitterness and venom shoot from my jaw,
I wish it would sink into something more awful
Softly blowing on the backs of necks
The words are trickling down spines;
'As good as gold but still disposed'
Helpless as the victim and the villain
A slapped wrist for thoughtless dilemmas,
Denied of a pardon for this ordeal
The sickening blow is punishment enough
Ripped flesh pasted onto something uncontrollable,
There was no risk assessment,
I was wide eyed at foreign things
Ignoring the choices for fear of the chance
Clean your ears so you can hear what I'm listening to;
Craves of my aesthetic will guide me tonight
What are the words i was supposed to have written?
As good as gold but still disposed
I'll let myself out gracefully