"Where I store my humiliation is in the vertebrae of my spine,
a slipped disc, I'll reminisce, but soon enough, I'll pay no mind

My broken heart is in my head, more like a DVD skipping chapters,
or a CD on repeat scraped up from the disaster

Or did my aorta and such cut loose and filled the pit of my stomach up with blood cells,
red cells and acidic fluids form battery acid that repel

Do I keep love in my eyes? possibly limerance in it's purest form,
infatuation and shallow thoughts traced back to my brain from where its born

I know hate is stored within the knuckles of my fist,
if I could trade hatred for love, I'd replace my hits with a kiss

My depression for necessity, my blood clot ego for selflessness,
my thoughts are up my ass searching for some fucking common sense

I would give an arm and a leg, to replace this emptiness for someone to else feel,
affection is in my fingertips, but my hands are rusted steel

But all is not lost, my head may be in the wrong place,
but I will always heal the scars inflicted on the surface of my
face

I will always clean my hands and sanitize its lonely state,
as long as I have grip on my fingertips, my resilience won't go in vain

My eyes don't just see shallowly, they see through imaginary windows and walls,
and to guide my shred of hope every time I start to fall

My broken heart is not broken, just a little love impaired,
the acidic strings aren't attached but still I'm a little scared

I can shackle my knuckles and release to open up my hands,
these were made to create not destroy my motherland

So I can store love and expression and give birth to works of art,
the human race is one not single people torn apart

But our beautiful fingers and hands are physical pathways for us to repent,
just tools because we create from our souls instead"

.....

just something i came up with off the spot. just a rough draft. haha