From June 2, 1:09 am

Hey you,
with your crown of jewels
and your leather shoes
and your colorful tank tops that beg all for approval.
They don't fool me
because I can see right through the person you're trying to be;
straight through to the demons that scream beneath,
trying to tear through from underneath your scaly sheath of skin.
It was down here where you truly laid,
but this part of you hardly saw the light of day.
And unfortunately I could not stay,
because I was never any good with crosses.
They confused me a bit;
my mind never did quite seem well enough to fit
with all the rest of the bible hugging nit-wits;
I never could make the pieces match.
I'm sorry if a nit-wit is what you needed,
but you never asked for that, never pleaded.
And looking back you were so goddamn conceited,
and still are today.
I hope these bones are what you like.
I hope you think of me late at night.
I hope you die knowing nothing you did was right,
and knowing that I loved you anyway.
Your crown, your demons, your crosses;
I loved you anyway.