Rambling

I assume you left here your hands in your hair. Wondering how she feels nothing. Seeing your burning eye's never made it through these iron walls of mine. Killing was the only way to hold on to ones self. Killing all hope, connection and love. A magic act, just a mask was wore hiding away, ones true soul. Must of lost it in a bet to the devil that I don't remember. Probably was drunk, who knows. God left use wordless with no sign, so we held on to an ideal, his son preying or pleading and begging for something to fill our hole for a heart. Nothing held me close enough to give me breath or even fresh life. Still in a pound festering, growing underneath the only thing they feed me is their dead bodies and waist. Touching nothing but mass never another being seems so odd. Yet, something more comforting then the touch of my own kind. A last my mind is blank, my taste is always bitter, pain is the only connection to life I have seemed to have made.  I am but light a pone your eyes or a bird that just fly's by. I am something that is nothing in your time. To lay awake for hours feeling dead, connecting artificially in hopes, that one day I may be able to be more then one of a kind. Rotting and aging faster then a humming birds wings. I watch our world frown and smile with a lie. Nature feels dead to me like a painted tree. Muse has died, the sun is like the devils dwelling to my eyes. Words are nothing, others pain flows over me like the air I breath something learned to be content in. Like a dog sleeping in bones and it's own fesses, trapped but this is home. Pinning our self's against each other.