Still It Sells

Nothing ever came so easy as

The manipulation of her word

Cold and humiliated

I tried to portray this mess

I should fear it

I should give it all to them and be done with it

I should give it all to them and be done with it

I fear he maybe found a use

A meaning or comprehension

Some sort of new birth or late coming death

Whose eyes will

Govern this

This judgment?

It's just not my place

To judge who

Tried or to

Condemn

Who cried

I want to be her, I want all of the

Answers, a crusty and scratchy mess

Shielded only by burlap and the satisfaction

Of knowing, but I know nothing

I am the impostor, the fake bastard

Holding on to dreams, I want all the answers

I won't wince at each neck's snap, nor help at the hint of hope

I'll just lie here wet and willing to provoke you

Still no closure, cold is so damn trite

And evil was never glamorous, still it sells so fucking buy it

As politics

Mean nothing

As it's already

In their heads, it resides a mark

So I leave mine as well

To finally be picked apart

Dissected and forgotten

Ignored at best

But it is still a mark

She gave me rope

And I climb