My heart
My heart is anxious for things of which it dare not speak
My breath greets my chest with short hellos and takes leave with abrupt goodbyes
A spear strikes through this heart, entry and exit marked by small yet gaping wounds
A tremor overcomes this heart, once struck, for it is weak and blood is such simple armour
Still, it beats, it pounds this chest, this refuge that failed to protect it from the spear
My bones
My bones corrode and crumble where they kiss
Between them, there is no flow of love, no fluid of ease
The cold bores through this calcified scaffolding and stiffens it with the breath of anguish
In demand of warmth, they clench their jaws and gnash their teeth for all to hear
They plant their claws into the mountain of distress that they have constructed
My mind
My mind is a raging tempest
The spear that strikes my heart has brothers, and they attack my head in droves
To fix these ills my demons are shunned, and for this my anxious heart sheds a tear
There is an abiding fog, through which only scattered fragments are seen
Still, the spear has brothers, and they will never die
My body
My body is persistent, but it is slowing
My body is persistent, but it is withering
My body is persistent, but it is unsteady
It is frustrating to each part of itself and of this it is aware
It is withering slowly in its unsteadiness, but it must persist.
Yeah. The flesh has that tendency to decay, doesn't it? Seemingly more so when we are self conscious
ReplyDeleteYep. It's all temporary, after all. Consciousness of self makes everything more acute, sometimes even symptoms that aren't really there.
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