NOT : Part 3 of 3

Sickly
fever,
******
keep
twisting
that
*******
knife.

A mirror can only shatter if presented with the facts,
no dewy eyed saint and top floor is for the faint
And beauty was never meant for the beast,
and gifted is nothing more than the weak.
The black replaces your green hues
and outside is the winter cold,
always will leave the dew
Can't do this any more.
poetry days dead for
so are left overs.
So humbling
tide of seen.
the blurry
of vision
of me.

I will come to terms with my inhumanity
No blame but these wings that resent
I know but you could never know.
I wish for no centred freedom,
This time, I will be mail sent
and I know I'm slipping,
This is how I dreamt
I see so clear now.
I don't need
more time.
Loyalty?
No....
Just
a cloud.
mumbling mouth
of my father's
is all I will remember
when he thought
I was getting better.

There's no angels
There's no demons
There's humanity
And it makes me sick.