My Heroin, My Heart

anna

An outrageous fear of the unorthodox,
the odd, the unknown pieces apart.
A poor decision defines the depth,
My heroin, my heart.

An imperfect imperfection implies,
the impulsive, and unproductive.
A selfish addiction is my wounded affection,
the result of living inactive.

An unwanted preoccupation,
the scarlet ribbon around my arm.
A patterned prediction purifies,
making clean my harmless harm.

An anger that ages on the arches of arrows,
the dirt under my nails never washes away.
A better bluff belittles beyond comprehension,
and the pallet is painfully plain grey.

An inner secret sickens me,
the priceless pennies, portrayed the part.
A hurtful hatred, I pick my pride,
My heroin, my heart.