It’s a strange pleasure that my thoughts race faster than bullets and are twice as deadly. But don’t worry, my thoughts only pierce me, and so you’ll have to pardon my shattered soul, for my bullets are not only destructive, but self-destructive. And if I had love for myself, these bullets would backfire, and gone would be my guns. Goodbyes said too quickly after problems run away, and when they arise, I’m running away from myself. Because some other being’s inside of me, and I don’t like her. I must confess, I’ve grown too fond of my scars. I asked for diamonds and I got more. I’m still sad because of the lost opportunities to make good of those last, invisible melodies. She’s always screaming in her mind, but halos surround her face…and they think she’s an angel. She believes that the music can make the towers inside to rise, but as the record stops playing everything fades into the clouds. We write poetry because we are seeking the love we lack, the love we seek, love that looks at us with its beautiful eyes. I’m the flightless bird, and under your wings I only feel safe, but don’t promise this is fleeting. Let’s enjoy the bliss while it lasts.