For the sake and love of art.
Chipped and battered wooden frames still afloat within my name.
Splintered slivers, shattered pride, stiffened by the guilt inside.
One by one they filled my heart.
Infection through an open vein, webbing skin and soothing stains.
A ripping sound I've felt before, the kind that's made when flesh is torn.
Sweet dissected shame.
Failed to please a mother's home, comfort that I'll never know.
Penetrate security, acid-bath anxiety.
The ingrate has a name.
Not a stain nor hanging thread, not a fold left unimpressed.
Tender meat, shredded raw: a cardiac tablesaw.
Haven't I wandered at least this far? Because I've been here before.
Haven't I wondered for long enough? Because there aren't any answers.
So I sleep.
Chills run down my broken back.
I address my own distress underneath my frosty breath.
And when I find where sorrow lies, my limbs will stay cold and dry.
Twisted figurines awry.
I combine and I refine the qualities that disrepair me.
Backwards bones and frozen stones, joint-molasses slow-machines.
Calm, reposed, a boiling storm.
Much to my dismay, my demons all recede.
An engine stoked too long ago that begs to be all but unleashed.
Dwindling self-defeat.
I revel in a battle fought, a skirmish won and purpose lost.
But words will never stress enough that I remain distraught.
Haven't I wandered at least this far? Because I've been here before.
Haven't I wondered for long enough? Because there's still not an answer.
So I sleep.
So scatter your bones around your homes
and hold tight, hold on, keep true, and don't ever let go.
The fates never mention nor reveal their intention,
so leave us in entropy.
So dwell within the pestering and hearken to the whispering,
and leave us in entropy.
The smell of new snow like flame creates smoke means winter will kill us all soon.
So I sleep. There's nothing else left I can do.
A diverging of clouds and stars announce "There's no room left for you."
So I sleep. There's nothing else left I can do.
The heavens collapsed and the saints all laughed when their God told them there is no truth.
So I sleep. There's nothing else left I can do.
So speak soft to your child, "Sleep well and dream wild," for tomorrow might bring us our doom.
So we sleep. There's nothing else left we can do.
There's nothing else left I can do.