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.
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