This is a poem about Survival
I want my words etched into the skyline and in the air that you breathe.
I want to build mountains that reach the heavens
that I don't believe in.
Write my soul on parchment and release it into the ocean,
let it swallow my emotions,
ride along the waves, intoxicated with the heroin
I bleed, because writing is my drug.
And maybe I'm naive,
but at least I'm alive.
At least I have dreams
where my every day isn't a struggle to survive.
Serve me hate on a platter,
Tell me it doesn't matter if you're wrong,
Because there's only one type of beauty
and mine doesn't belong.
Give me numbers to crave when I step onto that scale.
I'll sing you a scale, I'll write you a chorus
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