The True and Trill Stories: Part 4

Panacea

Are you ill?
The vomit stains on your socks lead me to believe that somewhere in your life you went through something truly trill
And still…
Your eyes are so dull that I struggle to believe you’ve ever given a fuck about anything real
You’re like steel…
So cold and solid, no one gets close to you without getting frost bite and losing a fucking limb
And that God damn smile dancing across your grill, makes me wonder if you’ve ever lived life or if you’re just too jaded to realize that you kill
So from the vomit to the eyes, the cold shoulder and the smiles
I’m unsure of who you are and yet the whole while
You seem so familiar, a face that I must know
But the mirrors gotten dirty and it no longer glows
Or shows the real facts
So I don’t recall what I should call you
But I know that
The stories you’ve told,
The pictures that you paint,
Are full of fantasies and loves that make these girls feel quaint
And faint in your memories, the lives that you’ve ruined
The souls and skeletons in your closet, the hate that you’re accruing
Enemy after enemy,
No one could possibly love you because you manage to establish such disparaging tendencies
That they are all suicidal,
Upon meeting you they instantly question their existence and worth as a person, because you’re a fucking black hole and your love is so worthless
So I think I’ve got it down, the vomit is from you or one of those girls you’ve had chasing you around
And you’re smiling because you find humor in the pain of others, you fucking clown
But who are you really?
A man of emotional conflict that yearns for spiritual guidance?
A liar that only regrets his life when it can benefit his own survival?
The man that kills women by saying that he loves them and shit?
Or someone that uses love to feel better, because who he really is makes him sick?

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