You don't know that your fist feels like butterfly kisses,

And your words, as sickly sweet as gas station seafood dishes

Don't faze me.

 

My face, has been through more abuse than big city sidewalks

And my body, has convinced itself that it's a punching bag

But I never asked you why you hate me.

 

Is my existence so insulting that you just had to

Try and snuff it out?

 

I never knew anyone but my mother to hate for no reason;

I'm not the one that laid down in the back seat

Of an old Ford pickup on that hot

Summer night

I never asked, to be given life yet

 

That doesn't stop you from trying to take it,

With your greedy voice and thieving little fingers.

 

Every time you open your mouth I know

There are such things as demons...

I just don't believe in angels.

 

I used to look for angels,

In the dirt-caked tiles of the hallway floors

Whenever you twisted me into

Mr. Fantastic angles but there

Are no such things as angels

Because if there were

 

They wouldn't have let my parent's signature

On my admissions slips be the gates

To my own person Hell.

 

How can a single human existence be the bane to

My will to live?

 

Your fists, feel like butterfly kisses,

And your words,

As sickly sweet as gas station seafood dishes

Don't faze me.

 

Not anymore.

 

I stopped trying to find God a long time ago.

Clearly he believes he's made a mistake  of creation

And sent his left hand to correct it

 

Because every time your knuckles connect with my flesh

It isn't the physical pain that gets me,

But the knowledge that no one will ever

Give enough shits about me to stop it.

 

You stitched, my lips, with your hate.

Crippled my ability to speak to

Plead my case to

Ask if there was some sort of mistake because

 

God doesn't make mistakes... right?

So there's a reason I'm here, right?

 

Is there something wrong with your life?

 

Like

 

Your step daddy entered your bedroom

When you were twelve and

Ever since then...

Your own personal Hell?

Did you just want someone to know how you felt?

Your fists feel like butterfly kisses,

And your words

As sickly sweet as gas station seafood dishes

Don't faze me.

 

You just wanted someone to know how you felt.

To share your pain because

Nobody knows how you feel

What you feel

What you, see every time you look in the mirror...

 

Are you disgusted, with yourself?

Are your flying fists

 

Really just a cry, for help?