Stop going to the root of disease
and don't treat the symptoms.
Cut it off like rotten branches
cut it off like we're growing old.
You don't have the time to be a doctor
Nor the inclination to care.
Let your feelings crush you.
Look in the mirror.
Chances are, you'll reflect a lot like me.
Buried in dust but still choking out.
Drowned in your mouth and thirsting again.
Blink and you'll miss me, so shut your eyes.
Your charity is unwelcome.
All I wanted was the love of the sun to dry the rain and dull the sharp beak of the dark side.
You give me nothing but a taste of heat and pull it away, showering any and every one else.
Take them if you want, I'm fine withering.
I don't want to be a trophy that you didn't want to display.
(Shove your fingers down my throat. You could kill me and I'd love you still, somewhere.)
I will never be your burden.
I'd rather be your used toy.
Tell me what I am?
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