You pour out your memories,
Along with blood from your wounded soul,
Into an 80 proof bottle,
To drink them down again.
Your shining golden heart,
Was tarnished, scratched, and crushed,
By a ring with a diamond.
Like a medicine ball,
Chained to your fair finger,
It weighs you down to the floor,
Pulling you deeper into a sea of self-loathing.
Your tears are still falling,
Even when you won’t show them,
They’re falling down your throat,
Making you feel vulnerable.
They raise the water level of your reservoir of insecurities.
In order to reach oxygen you build upon newfound obsessions,
Tattoo Libra scales onto your skin,
Mocking the lack of justice in your life,
Ink piercing your flesh.
Yet that blackness won’t make you lighter.
The ink is like the poison you drink,
That mixes in the river of tears,
The catalyst of memory hits,
The recipe destroys you.