Battered

The loneliness is a violent thing

Leaving bruises like lipstick marks on my throat.

It's a cruel thing too, clawing across my memories

With the sharp talons of Hindsight that whispers,

It never mattered to them.

.

I would break my bones one thousand times

Just to feel a sliver of this euphoria again.

Maybe I would even drag silver against my skin

To taste the gold medal of victory on my tongue.

Life is such a frivolous thing.

.

Turn me into a ghost so I can haunt this place

Without the annoyance of needing sleep.

I am tired of lying down and taking the medicine

Shoved down my throat and under my tongue.

It's meant to kill me, you know.

.

I wonder if it will or if I'll show up on the side

Of a milk carton in an alternative reality,

Defining features typed off below a bad,

Blurry picture of a sad face.

Another dreamer's gone lost.