Patched-up Monster

Run my fingers along these stitches
My slick, sick skin in pale, pink patches
Red scars, dark dreams and seams
Snagged-up tissue in small light catches

If I’m a patched-up monster
Then what does that make you?
You are my creator
Working in sin and sinew

I acknowledge my birth and life
But I wish you wouldn’t have bothered
Especially when you hate
That which you have fathered

I pity us, this reckless wreck
Wreaking wrong, prescribing pain
Spent my life to break your neck
On the hope of a rope in ending insane

You meant to make me perfect
But don’t know what you’re doing
You played around with delicate parts
Left this bloody monster in ruin

I survive, pieced from scraps
Forgotten flesh upon the floor
You die of loneliness
But I live to rise once more

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