There's madness here/the terror of loneliness/
the pain of isolation. I want to end silence
in the grave of my chest/my lungs lunging into
the sharp points of ribs/the bleeding teeth
of bone bursting into the flesh/of leaves
still crumbling into rust/in the cruel palms
of the evening wind-rebellion. There is no thing
walking down the edge of darkness/near my
tongue/where every bad thought finds voice/&
all the demons howl their delight. The sun is an
eye into hell/& Lucifer stirs that cauldron with
a bagpipe. There is sentient music in the land
of my skin/the scrape/scratch of nails stowing
runaway pain/into the runnels of blood/that
leach colour from the canvas of identity into
my hunger to be free. I will go back into the
overgrown foliage of the past/wack the debris
of old sails & oxidated manacles/from the shore
of tender memory. Maybe my heart lies there/the
fragile leaf defoliated from that unfinished ship/
within my chest. I will build it up into a flesh eating
thing/swollen with the blood of innocence/& from
there i will wander into your open hands/so you
can be cruel to me one more time.
Yours always,
Osahon (warpedpoetic)
