SAMlways the Thief

I like to do things,
take things,
right under people's noses.

Cause that's what happened to me,
something stolen, something broken,
right in broad daylight.

I wore my curse home,
like a child carries their lunch bag
or a girl clutches to her doll.

A crime that left no evidence for the cops,
cept my cunt and his cock,
no cuts, no crime-scene,
he did sex with me all over the whole house.
Where's there to look?
What am I looking for?
I know I'm missing,
 the absence of something undefinable.


Too faithful to ever fail,
Too fearful to ever feel,
a fighter
but still fucked before five.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I steal
to still feel guilty.

I lie
to still feel hollow.

I anger at their lies,
all too many reasons
to never give them a second chance.

On the fly...
I steal because I know I'll get away with it.
Just like he got away.

Just like that,
I've always been sin-filled
stained burgundy too young,
but no one seemed to notice.
so I just bit my tongue.
I still bite my nails, my toes, my lover's tits.

oh you're just so sweet,
and sensitive.
and soft spoken.

Am I a sinner or am I a saint?
If I'm neither should I just paint,
lie after lie
until one's so captivating it seems believable?

I've become a master at 'the game,'
the one no one talks about,
an invisible wound festering on far too many.
You see,
I've been feigning innocence for quite some time now
and I forget to ask 'Why I do the things I do?'
I just do them,
and try to forget them.