My words prove me a flagellant, they sting like many tails.
Swollen scars are all that\'s left, as conversation fails.
No ulterior motive carried, naught inside save love,
yet drown in self analysis, fits just like a glove.
My mouth is always bleeding, as syllables sharp and stone,
are poor substitutes for teething, but perfect for a groan.
Self castration every night, behold all my esteem:
Why don\'t those I find fascinating see the same in me?
What string of words could possibly paint the picture whole?
What set of movements can I make to tessellate my soul?
In a prison of understanding, friendship, love and light,
all that escapes is opposite, tongue coated in blight.
Everything is soaked in lead, can\'t do it anymore.
Can\'t let myself have any fun, translation such a chore.
Every laugh has it\'s price to pay: my engagement impound.
I think I\'m meant to hide inside, tip-toe familiar ground.
Tired bones and teeth are always chattering away.
I\'m at such a disconnect, nothing left to say.
Lips are always flapping. Blood and sweat and tears.
Nothing here to show for it, swallowed by my fears.