Untitled poem (Or random thoughts and decisions)

It's a kind of preparation.
Just another fast assumption.

another step,another snap,
another burden upon my lap...

just to make it happen...

for I got to make it happen.

got to make it linger.
got to make it whole.

Saint.

Surgeon.

Flesh collector.
my transformer
sweet dissector

cure me

fix me

make me whole.
make me worthy of their love
perfect skin

a firm chin.

Don't ask if I can relax.

(My motive)

I am relaxed.

This is my body

(My alibi.)

I'm not hurt,

I'm just angry...

(Six sour years for a lifetime of candy.)

And tired.

(a LOT.)

All too tired of this...

(Such a bore.)

but it's a process I must endure.

And I will...

just for a chance to be

(happy.)

Published May 09, 2011 Write a comment
To write comments please login or join.
Add this poem to your "I recommend you to read" list? Confirm
Want to delete this comment?   Confirm or Close