This Mold of Me

My skin is tough, like hard plastic. But my heart is made of mush! These cuts provide a purpose in the shapeing of the soul, and these scars they tell a story of the many past lost goals. We build ourselves from circumstance and learn what we can take... and when it is life seems to much we are destined all to break. I see the world from lava stone with everything upturned, when peoples words and actions set a fire to help me burn. This world is dark and sometimes fueled by this pain that seaps from my bones, and its times like this i would not miss this world i've come to know. My tears they spill out weakness for all who care to see, but they do not know the strength i hold or the current battle fought within me. Its constance overwhelms me and it strips me to the core, until there is nothing left except an empty vessel that hoards lost words. I cannot make them see whats real and how every day is a victory. If only i can make it from rise to set. I need a constant feed of courage, love, and hope. For others faith it seems to help me cope. There is none left in this old cell that harbours a heart and soul, and without them i would merely be mush and plastic formed into a mold.