Thresheld

Still Standing

You've already broke me down,

Totaled me.

Traded me for parts,

put the rest in a jar,

but I still have a voice,

I- I am still standing,

so let me break me down to you.

I'm a mess, but I blend in with the rest.

I work my fingers to the bone, but they know no beauty.

I still am at a loss for life and what it costs.

I am not too damn fond of myself.

"God damn" is a phrase I use too often, and,

I know you wouldn't like that.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

I only live to justify the good I could have spread,

I only live to languish in the pathos of the dead.

I raise your heart a beat,

because it's not as broken,

though my sympathy is

still and always, soft spoken.

You left me here in sin,

you took away my virgin skin.

I left you a scarecrow in a baren field.

I covet what is left of it,

I charish charred remains.

My brain is all I have to blame,

for falling for a cliche.

I think I'll drag along and drink,

and drink, and think, until it is too much.

I think I am doing alright standing alone-

you were always waiting on me anyways, and I know now-

No one can wait on me besides my sullen self.

I'm married to morose procrastination, and don't get me wrong-

I blame you.

I'm sorry, it's just easier to live with myself that way.