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isolation of movement

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blurred edges, burnt crisps
of crevices of my own tastes,
bleeding a different type of melody
I find exacting my heart. The warm breathe of a lover
Over-done and rejected is pitiful on my tongue;
The elongated limbs of hate-and-love driven incubus
Claws his way into my heart. Fingers can sadly touch the melancholy
Of a young doll trying to play pretend,
Instead the comfortable lies is ripped away,
Just another nightmare in my most opinion. I yawn and sunset creeps under the curtains,
In between the sheets, a siren is calling
Pulling at the tread count with rotten &
fingertips stained imprints on thighs. Bruised within and outs
Separate the hoarse call of nothings
To find within the background an actual heart
In my ears.

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author's note:

one: well, so far on my poetry site, no one has commented on this poem, so I decided to post this here. I will be trying to...extend my poetry to the point where it sticks in your mind. My poetry...all of them, regardless of the title, carry a message that some need to hear. And over time, they will mature, and hopefull win your reviews! Thanks, and major loves. All the poems and collections and stories posted to this site are copywritten (that's right) so no stealing!

two: this was a bit pictured inspired by my other (some-what evil) mindset. It might not make too much sense but, overall, what I saw was a girl lying in bed, listening to music that did not touch her. That is until she heard a song by a male that absolutely ripped her heart in to. In the end, she's saying the beat of the music was in actuality his heart that he sung to...yeah, I just thought you should know, what was going on in this weird mind of mine.