lastmancandid

Maybe I envy the subtle persuasion because I lack that delicacy of workmanship. The blunt subtitles flowing from the forgotten features. The volume just a bit ridiculous, a caricature of claymores. Perhaps only a loudmouth, a soapbox for Hope. Sorry for the figments, the pieces that formed forever. The red in the glass never quite lived up to it's own persona, but I still pour what I can down that familiar wishing well. You've always known it was for you and if you didn't you weren't paying attention. That seems to be the dilemma, a presence without understanding.



I hear your words and know the meaning in your posture. That frame was never meant to support this weight, broad shoulders are saved for those with certain saviors and winning smiles. That is why I love you, because you wear it with pride. That self imposed suffering, the fallacy you can't deny.

I can see the bones beneath your skin yet I've never held back my strength. I've gripped and you've writhed and you've made me bleed. I've seen the marks, they linger and I remember. I've conquered you and still you own every part of me that I've deemed to have value.

Thank you. Know that I mean it. I am disgusted by who I've become and I'll never surrender. I love who I am, because you are a part of me. I try to cut deep, believing that you will hurt.


Fight me, feel me, know I'm here, it is the only way I will feel sacred.