How do I eloquently introduce you to the demons in my bed?
Should they join us at the table as we go to break our bread?
Before I set their place, should I tell you how they’re fed?
The living eats a little different than the dead.
How do I elegantly articulate all the thoughts in my head?
Do I string a single pearl for every tear I’ve shed?
Can a diamond reflect all the trials that I’ve tread..
once I limit my lipstick to a certain shade of red?
I prefer the crimson color blended from the hues I’ve bled.
Pretty on my lips yet it distracts what I’ve said,
But why translate my pages to those who’ve misread?
When they favor a lady to hide her past instead.
Never seeing the illness that slowly begins to spread,
and the time bombs created from problems they imbed
until their fuses run out on the long road ahead.
Our past is woven through us so the lesson can’t be shed,
but needles become weapons when used without thread,
We all have demons, they’re not something to dread.
It’s those who bury their darkness that have sadly been misled.