Tomorrow i will be just another shit-stain
to be pissed-off from your bowl of life,
a torn hymen of possibilities.
You can be just another crying pariah
that lives on my chopping-block list,
broken in by your insanities.
It's too late to brand my leather chest
with symbols to wither my bleeding-spell,
moments of you will diffuse and blur.
Fold your silvery reactions into yesterday
to remind me in a different time of pocketed dreams,
I'm stuck between here and now on repeat...