Sapiosexual

I sexualize the smoke clouds I anticipate the grief before it grows on me like a hospital bill And there's no telling if I won't or will If I fill the tank with secrets, will you spill? Your most egregious takes were the entire highlight reel Watch me perform in the firing squad of scorn The text of who I worship running down my arm, More sacrosanct than the gardens of Babylon You're hanging on thin wire more exposed than blood on white floors Red flags and white wine Waiting for the moment when my calls of desperation turn back into quiet vapors If I'm so esoteric, then what makes you so perspicacious? You took your shame and made it a weapon I took my trauma and made it the confidant to the pen Another land of caution that feels illicit I see the mirror and feel anything but shy; You see a graveyard of stars, I see the open sky I sexualize the smoke clouds and its the best I've ever felt under bed sheets I anticipate the lucid dream but it still ends up gaslighting me Wrapping like vines tickling their way to me I feel like I'm not grounded enough to excel in forestry And lately I've been watering the soiled, toxic side of me You see a surgical classroom, I see a severed artery You took your victim status and made it a medal, I put my brain into the pen and called it a bible Sunken claw marks on reflective doors Keeping my expression latent for when I'm feeling repentant Gasping on some silence in unfinished basements Telling ventriloquists that we're feeling voiceless Staring through my pupils in the mirror The elation has many layers But the paranoia lasts longer than a light year Waiting for the mask to slip and fall on me Leaving on the porch light for your sedated imprecation I walked a thousand miles in my own shoes Defacing blisters the entire way I walked a thousand more miles in your shoes Just to get a sense of the journey without being blinded by the view The trees whispered my name But every exit sign of lamina and veins looked exactly the same So I stayed entering identical time loops Because the doors looked like prison bars and that feels like home to me And since when was my unprocessed trauma not a new discovery? Will I ever get to it? It slowly crawls towards me like a zombie with its legs blown off But will I ever truly work it out? My cross to bare; your pick of behaviors to denounce