My lungs breath oxygen from pockets of revenge.

I play connect the dots with the scars on my skin.

Mangled memories of sunny days and toxic friends.

Trying to remember who I am and how it begins.

Pretending to smile as I fight darkness within.

O Innocent child, lost in the crisscross wind.

Through the slushy swamps of my skull, crocodiles swim.

Voices in my head born from awful sins.

The story behind my eyes is distorted by who I had to be to fit in.

Please, just go…

We can’t afford to be friends.

I am that fleshy, sinful outer shell of human rubbish, filled with hidden animalistic qualities that operate under the blood-pumping instruction of a fragile, intricate inner-web of veins, arteries, muscles, fatty tissue, heart, throat, kidneys, liver, bones and brain that I am able to make a series of choices throughout the span of my life to dictate the condition and possible outcome of my destiny, which unless fate is truly written in stone by the mightily divine fingers of God, and by doing so has predetermined that of which I am and also that of which I possess the unique potential to be.