Love is the X that marks the spot. I am left with a ?
I am warmblooded.
You, you are chilled and Siberian.
I find you wintry and unblemished.
You find me passable and distressed.
Reject, I am the failed pieces.
I go down the conveyer belt into the aluminum square,
an endless journey to the trash bin.
You move on like its the next scene in a script.
You rip me up like the part of the script that has already been shot.
I star as Prometheus. Always having my eyes picked out.
You are the angry God who placed me upon this crag.
Troubled by the judgement and
emptied by the hands that held me,
you take me from pieces to crumbs.