Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Blemishes of the Spirit

my crime is making you believe the world's good-natured
when all along the cold of death rests in my heart
from what i see, i have achieved perfection in your eyes
if that's the case, i beg forgiveness 10 times over

for what i am is broken
a heavy, troubled soul
and who i am is searching
i'm a jagged puzzle piece that can't fit into anything

admissions flow down like a spilled glass of wine
staining what was once deceivingly white
if i were you, i'd throw the dirty cloth away
it's easier to discard mistakes when unscathed names can take their place

for what i am is soiled
exfoliating truth prevails
and who i am is shameful
like a wolf among the sheep, i've been seen so now I'll take my leave

blemishes of the spirit rest on paper
and the air pressure inside's a little less
tears, for some, come like sleep - often enough to sustain
some of us bottle it up and can't seem to let our eyes rain

for what i am is wanted
to be needed by someone
and who i am is every man
try not to assign a face to the yearnings of a lost human race