Born To Suffer

painted like a whore smelling of stale cigarettes drunk on wine and ecstacy temptation on your skin wet and tangled in sex tasting sharp and alive your eyes cut like glass words like an angel fallen from gods grace dirty little whispers simple profane gestures a lonely little slut swaggering through the street stumbling on stoned vanity drinking from poisoned cups bedding sad strangers twisting in your skin hunting like a hungry cat catch that spider in the tin you hold that pretentious boy touching him like he's velvet smiling your passion winter rests in your eyes heroin cocktail in your blood a waif tainted by lies and life's strangling hold finding solace in odd sex writhing in the open air serpentine movements ripple your body a bloody altar marred with hopeless fates and your androgynous frame scarred with secrets from past dirty fingers so white knuckled holding fast to indifference loss of faith in the world broken and running out seeping into the worlds roots money for your time you like it that way undone by what's become forgetful of political correctness you don't believe in yourself living is not giving a sainted dog of the street tired of living here so tired of giving here can't you see you're always sinking wasted on the alley's smoke and the rubbish of the city freedom is in chains locked within the walls of pain friendless in this world you fake the smiles you gift slowing your heart withering in a silent decay winded and sick with sadness pretending won't make it go away broken in the dead silence walking that crooked path you got lost somewhere died long ago among the remains buried in the dust kicking the damp chills off you walk alone shoulders bare and cold makeup smeared with exhaustion bruised from another beating broken inside by all the hate can't feel what is real within your mind you're pretty but your are only stained with tears you won't cry always falling down scraping and bleeding again grown up and righteous not the man you think you are just a scared little boy shriveled quiet little soul a creature of simplicity and you like to suffer abused by the patrons those who use your pretty frame so starved and skinny all bone and pale flesh shining with the wounds of yesterday finding comfort in your sins left alone in the end this life you can't escape pretty little thing you are taken with this existence this job on your back watching the dirty lovers taste your gentile pureness that glamorous spirit deep within you see how dark it is tempted again by the glitter but look again and you see it's only dust floating in a pretty light that only looks good from far away break and crumble on the pavement homeless little tin solider a toy for the merciless unfairness of the divine dice some of us are born to suffer Written January 2nd, 2002 © on Jan 02 2002 05:16 AM PST   0 • 9