If static is the normalcy of sound wrapped together with dissonance
I am surly the sultry and incomprehensible anomaly
The indispensable cluster fuck of probability
Like an opera singer who’s lost a voice
Distorted because the drugs put my body between stations
Assembly of a sin and repentance of an unforgivable addict
No matter who gives the judgment to me
I will not answer their calls for a plague on my house
Like a Shakespearian actor who says that it is but a scratch
Is the scratch the downfall of the misunderstanding
The jumping from one state to the other
Back lighted photo shoots
Capture that image before I inhale
And believe for the sack of no one’s salvation but your own
That the truth will always be the words from which I draw my sentences from
I am not beautiful
I am not a genius
I am not a person in my own mirror
All I see inside my dark brown eyes
Is the illnesses
There is no man in the skin
Because there is no life that I call my own
Because the illnesses that control me
Won’t let me feel