A moth Ghost girl how damaged do I have to be? That's a tease not a literal speech You do know I'm your only cockroach Oh my dear micka How and, I really despise hiding your name Dear Mika I have my antenna caught underneath a crevice An last time you promised to be the death of my murder An put a boot on my arch, so I pop like gunfire and leave the floor colored hell and my skull but dung lying lifeless. But I have no care I know reality keeps peace for the loved while I am tossed to unending moral despair, undeserving to die by your hand, so assigned to die within the sole of your foot. Abrasively dragging my corpse on the stone Tear by tear each piece of me leaves me like a salesman declined a deal on wall Street. But moth I am devout to you The moment I entered this room brimmed with dust big enough to fill rooms for days and has couches that are stained with various drips and substances from unknown origin Your footwear is the perfect example rather buy a core for the statement I'm all of place but not even within it while parrots tweet the note of a horror film Your the shadow of loves darkest corner Your the truth of da Vinci's mona Lisa The texture of purple behind starry skies With hair of a cultic flame An a fruity tongue that drips melon That sweats purified spring water that has me obsessed with taste With eyes of a Greek goddess of pleasure I am your devout I long to set an altar to your name With your heavenly face penned to the windows Inked into the glass internally snatched into a broken clock systematically but a part of time You are an itch that pain can't get rid A phantom that I long to be haunted by within the night A soul of portrait that watches in silence in day I look up to your arrival as saviour Even if your not always as cold as bodies of frozen ice An come to me as little as chance An ring the fire for me to cut open my chest Hold the breath with my hand and feed you the only remain of my humanity Pulse-pulses while it vomits blood by the second Queen am I your Paramount or should I kneel? Or is my strawberry tart too bland for your liking as this blackness consumes to the last sight? Your voice more gentle Than a childish world An more complex than a moving velvet shadow It's coke an a shiver to my soul When I said I'll hold my breath I meant I'll squeeze my lung An pull out my heart alive Traumatized by the attack and fibers snipping from my chest With thoughts pleading to not carry on doing I know even so it ends in your arms I'll likely never make it to your tongue Whenever your new face creeps with flaws An colors with imperfections An your brush and mascara pity you, ironically Words of Sylvia Plath are an episode of mockfulsanity All the paint on every blemish and pimple Judged by the mirror You blame the innocent glass for anxiety But I believe it's who you who's peeling of your face with nails and dips them to carve bone and flesh off I wish, I do sincerely wish as if god would take away my calm heart and made them your thoughts so you will mo longer get enraged when anxious and be with peace on your own Regardless I have heard you happy, seen you alive, you already have heart and I long to find a reason for you to use it Even though I count you as a moth Metaphor descriptions of a ghost alive I'm the simplest reason I want you to be heaven's tits Am give up the delusion of this worth I have truth but I am not making use of it I'll never be your saviour I am a cockroach I cannot save a soul

A moth Ghost girl, how broken do I need to be? That's a joke, not serious words. You know I'm your only cockroach. Oh my dear Mika, I really hate hiding your name. Dear Mika, My antenna is stuck under a crack. Last time, you promised to end my suffering. You said you'd step on me, so I'd burst and leave a mess. But I don't care. I know reality is kind to the loved, while I am left in endless despair, not worthy to die by your hand, so destined to die under your foot. Dragging my body harshly on the ground, Piece by piece, I fall apart like a failed deal on Wall Street. But I am devoted to you, moth. When I entered this dusty room, filled with stains from unknown things, Your shoes are a perfect example of my misplaced existence, while parrots sing horror film notes. You are the shadow in love's darkest corner. You are the truth of da Vinci's Mona Lisa, The purple texture behind starry skies, With hair like a cultic flame, And a fruity tongue that drips melon, Sweating pure spring water that I crave, With eyes like a Greek goddess of pleasure. I am devoted to you. I want to create an altar for you, With your heavenly face on the windows, Etched into the glass, trapped in a broken clock, yet part of time. You are an itch that pain can't remove, A ghost I want to haunt me at night, A silent portrait watching by day. I await your arrival as a savior, Even if you're not always as cold as ice, And come to me rarely, And ignite the fire for me to cut open my chest, Hold my breath and give you my last humanity. My heart beats while it bleeds. Queen, am I your main focus, or should I kneel? Or is my offering too bland for you as darkness consumes? Your voice is gentler Than a child's world, And more complex than a moving shadow. It's a shock to my soul. When I said I'd hold my breath, I meant I'd squeeze my lungs And pull out my heart alive, Traumatized by the attack, fibers tearing from my chest, With thoughts begging to stop. I know it ends in your arms, But I'll likely never reach your tongue. Whenever your new face shows flaws, And colors with imperfections, And your makeup pities you, ironically, Sylvia Plath's words are a mockery of sanity. All the paint on every blemish and pimple, Judged by the mirror, You blame the glass for anxiety, But I believe it's you peeling your face with nails, carving bone and flesh. I wish, I sincerely wish, as if God would take my calm heart and make them your thoughts, so you won't get angry when anxious and find peace alone. Regardless, I've heard you happy, seen you alive, you already have a heart, and I long to find a reason for you to use it. Even though I see you as a moth, Metaphorically a living ghost, I'm the simplest reason. I want you to be heaven's gift, And give up the illusion of worth. I have truth but don't use it. I'll never be your savior. I am a cockroach. I cannot save a soul.