I don't understand,
These words running through my head,
Precariously strung on threads of nonsense
Or why words of comfort pass through me,
But words of malice make their home,
In the crevices of the dark, overflowing attic,
That is my mind
Or the lips that I have not tasted,
That I somehow crave,
Or why I need attention and affection,
As if it's heroin,
And I am a dying addict
Or why hands that were once soft on tender skin,
Now rake across sun-kissed skin and tear-stained cheeks
Or why I let those wide eyes suck me in,
And fool me,
As if I could be loved,
As if I could be accepted,
As if I could be somebody to someone
Or why I let myself think that,
I could let out the demons and rot,
Without contaminating you too
Or why I accept offers of help,
Even though I know it won't end well
I don't understand
