Bitter Morning Touch

hate
spilling from my side
rake
all the dreams I've fried
take
every lasting breath in
while I wander aimlessly inside...


shall I hide inside the water's edge,
or cringe within the Rhine?
There are times we resort to weeping,
where in this, we all lie,


we lie.


and here I call
for the mailer's stretcher
while he blinds her with his spaded, spade,
now jaded in my bladed side
oh why, oh why
does he have to say it right?


carry on, and let me fall apart,
let it all be found no more,
for even then,
I won't wear it on my skin.