Falling shattered into moans of angry violins
Sleep comes like an addiction part of my need part of
The cure part of the disease stalking in my silence
Tides come and go pulled by the moon I'm propped up by love
Emotion still bleeding, I cringe, the salt feels so sweet
Pain and pleasure, there's no line anymore, or it's blurred
The aggressive apathy, helplessness, incomplete,
No music to still the gnawing, no one's getting stirred
To protest or to praise my favorite kind of torture
I push past the dullness of my throat and my clear mind
Resist the urge to scream it aloud, stitch my sutures
Sew the patches on after I rip, leaving behind
A piece of driftwood seaweed treasure on the shore
A bottle with the battle records tear stained from the war