Copyright, Moriarty

A few poems about my SI-problem. Not virtuosic but at least something.

Not Your Shame

And if there is something I would like to say
I would say I hate your name
They’re all the same
They’re all too lame
But my face, no, it isn’t theirs
Demonstrating the beat
I feel inside my meat
And flesh is opening again
The flesh is staining the rain
Aren’t we all loveables
Aren’t we all cuddly
Our skin is weak
And our mind is fiddly
These blades do keep us sane
But they make you scared
And you think we are insane
You should know this isn’t normal
But we aren’t ill just a bit abnormal
Let us treat our flesh this way
It will keep us out of your way
Drfting up higher
Hearing the heart
Drifting to clouds again
Feeling the heart
The only lines we snort are red

Predictive Lines

These acts so impulsive
All my moves are compulsive
I never ever wanted to get inside this bleeding word
I never ever wanted to get under this dying world
‘Cause I knew I would see
Too much, I would feel
Today tomorrow whatever they’ll say
And whenever they may
Arrive in a cloud of surprise
And my tears
Invisible as those pads
Along with my fears
Are just escaping rats
Leaving my thoughtless hands without guard


This is my body this is my skin
I can treat them just how I wish
Carving on those stony walls
Looking past those glassy eyes
Empty streets full of empty deals
I can live my life like this
You never ever cared
You never ever knew
I never ever showed
I never ever queued
Lying before your very eyes
Lying and you are eating my lies
Look at those strawberries
Aren’t they bright and red
Just like that tacky liquid
That makes me forget
And this all reminds me
I have to sharpen my knife


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