and the salt turns all my bones to rust.

envy reared her ugly head,
stared squarely in my eye,
and no one noticed when she said,
“…you know, its all a lie.”

uglier still, was she called “hope”
who danced in front of me.
from her lips slipped, “try to cope,
nothing’s a guarantee.”

anger is in hiding still
somehow, she cannot die.
perched upon my window sill,
too weighted down to fly.

pouring salt into my wounds is lust,
who gives herself to me.  
the salt turns all my bones to rust;
nothing in life is free.

im happy, but it know its lining
deeper shades of blue.
day breaks and the sun is shining
maybe ill break, too.