Swaying to the Beat of Heartbreak
On a hook
still I adore the adoration,
not listening to moderation;
ripping at the seam,
no matter of vaccination.
I open as wide as sutures allow,
to mend within
on broken skin,
a well of hate therein.
A bloodshot brain
is often too hard to train,
though some with boredom feign
to know what it feels to be a stain.
But I beg of those few who dare to try;
it's a waste of time.
To witness an uneducated pantomime
about how being awake is a crime...
Well, I'd need a nickel, not a dime,
because when I look through that mirror grime,
no one is there.