Sweet With Sin

In demand. Plastic eyeballs. Melted wax tongue.
Wordless whispers. Your insides are negative and numb.
My desire gives birth to sin. My mind is furtile. My tongue is pregnant.
This paper, bloody ink, my gaze is an umbilical cord. These words are infants.
An idea. A sin. Rebellion in a new form-fitting skin.
Battle of good and evil, a twist from within
Impending doom. Suffer the consequences
Remember me through the pain and pleasure your brief romances.
You're skin and bones, paper and sticky glue
I'll cover your shamefullness, I'll redress you
Coarse texture and papercuts. Crayons and ink
Unsatisfied with your new skin, you wash yourself clean
Polished nails. Dead dreams. Tears of an untold story
Shaken Baby Syndrome, say you're sorry.
Broken bones, love letters sent to the wrong address.
A stranger's sickness, a blind man's gentle caress.
Asthmatic liplock. Hallucinate. El Diablo's my lover.
I'm determind to reach your standards, I'm a shadow. I fall and recover.
My prefix is mixed up, I'm not married, I'm single.
I'll rewrite my records, I'm a painful memory to a mind that's more than fragile.
I'm inferior to you and your mistakes, I'm too weak to witness your love noose snap.
Can I be your balance? Your energy? Poisoned marrow within your bones? Can I watch your synapse?
Hopscotch and kickball, I prefer the solitude of the swing
A brief attempt to fly, too many broken bones, I'll never have wings
Plucked free at birth, now I'm tender, ready to be eaten.
Roast me. Eat me. I'm bitter with doubt and sweet with sin.
I'm the lie, the liar, the forgiven, I'm God.
I'm instantaneous, uncomfortable, awkwardly  beautiful and odd.
I'm the tree of the Knowledge of Good and Bad
My twigs branch out, scratch your itch, make you bleed and make you mad.
Now my ideas give birth to ideas and now knowledge is sinful.
There's no escaping the stain of imperfection. The cycle, the circle.