Pursed Lips Cracked

Today,
Is the day I will not be happy to die for, Or so I believe,
I know not you,
I care not for you,
I hate to believe that knowing you ever made me feel less angry at myself,
Windows painted over in black, glass shards wrapped in flesh,
The sugar tasting smell of blood, the memory fading strength of denial,
The force of one, the force of the few
The willingness of one to cry for a thousand,
The hesitance of a thousand for one,
Sympathy is for the faithless, flowers are for the loved ones dead or less than dead,
The whiteness of you is nostalgic to me,
I believe in sleep, do you if it isn't ever really for free;
The sanctity of a lucid mind is only overshadowed my the lunacy of my fallacy,
I carve you a crimson bed of gold, made of my finest bone
I purse my lips and try to crack my lips
I see you and wonder who I could have the heart to learn and recount my deceit
I remonstrate for the sleeping gods,
Cracked worn out teeth through glistenning lips I remember what it is to be you.