LEFTOUTSIDE

Does anyone else feel that disdain?

The clear blue skies from the August sun,

That fractures our already fragile self-love,

Oh, how we prefer the art of self-loathing.

Dropping blue biscuits off to secret lovers,

That we pour all our hope into,

They are our redemption,

They are my self-worth,

The shelves come crumbling down,

The blue biscuit dry to the taste,

Spit out,

Sprinkled broken hearts over the chocolate cake of shit,

That is the grass you lay on,

Claiming it is soft as hay,

When needles are not hard to find and,

Blood is all you bleed.