Damaged Goods

I am Damaged Goods,

 

that can neither love, nor find love.

My heart has long been emptied out,

scraped by the endless string of lovers who

swore to be caressing me with their filthy fingers,

long and skinny nails like claws

grabbing me, scarring me and

reducing me to nothing but

Damaged Goods

they can neither love nor ask for love.

I am Damaged Goods,

sneered at and cursed by those I hold dear to my heart

contaminating my thoughts with

the venom that spills out of their mouths.

Pain coursing through every vein in my body

making the blood stop,

 turning my body cold

losing all faith in a world that neither loves nor sees me.

Does the light ever make its way into my life, 

will my pleas for mercy be drowned along with

any hope I had of being normal.

If normal is calling others names and spitting on

those whose scars run deeper then yours.

If it's saying I love you but never looking into

my eyes or looking at the lines of fatigue

etched on my face.

If normal is using someone into nothing 

make me normal

so I will not hurt anymore but mock and 

sneer and burn flesh with my tongue,

that I too can corrupt young minds,

making them

Damaged Goods.

Lover's Quarrel

Do you see how you hurt me so

lover of mine who,

carelessly spurts words out of your mouth,

daggers flying across the room to injure me.

Letting their meaning lost to you, 

bruise and batter me

so your audience can laugh

all this time mocking me, and me

joing in your crowd in laughter, laughing 

the loudest with the 

desire to conceal all hurt.

You call me over-sensitive,

over-sensitivity birthed by your being under-sensitive,

making my emotions a time bomb that is 

highly explosive.

Should I know this as happiness, 

screaming to a wall that neither

listens nor answers but,

crumbles around me with all illusions shattered.

Is this to be love,

mine received when it's only convenient to you,

and never inbetween.

Oh lover of mine how deeply you hurt me so.

Is it because you know I will never let you go,

perfect man that you are.

How slow the wounds close,

how quick the scars heal.

I shan't ever let you go.

Ours being a connection neither one can understand, have 

we reached ultimate love

or it the beginning of comfort-zone

where neither will let the other go?

Oh lover of mine how 

we hurt each other so 

yet,

neither will let the other go.