Bent Coin

I am a strangely and sharply bent coin,

Worth something back when,

And worth something no more,

He does not value broken thought,

I fit into no slot,

I rest flat on no thigh,

One side of me is torn,

Insides with blackened form,

The other is scrunched,

Unpleasant to touch,

Where's the beauty he bought?

Easier to grip,

Harder to remove,

A nuisance beyond convenient grooves,

To flatten is not to fix,

Just to bend a further angle,

My eyelids are stretched over the lenses,

Red from the backlight,

There's colors but no shapes,

Offer vague statements but no desire,

The smoke burns more than fire,

Ignoring my eyelids,

But the bones still remain,

More graceful than the flame,

And the spot I scratched,

Made my teeth turn black,

How long 'til they crumble?

He asks why all this shit gets dumped on him,

Well that shit is me,

Treat me accordingly,

Smear me on canvas and call me art,

Green isn't a color,

But a combination,

Infected with the blues,

I sing my sorry tunes,

He'll love me for those, 

'Til he really knows,

Do I know where he will flee?

Peel off when I feel,

My fingertip flakes,

The final shred of my identity,

No grip on reality, 

He already left me.