We Might Get Well Tomorrow - A Series Of Poems

Castle 3/4

I'll impatiently wait by flickering pixels
Ranking each droplet from my swirling storm
Expecting the high carbon stainless steel to die out
Or for my magnet bones to stop shaking in its presence

As if the swimming letter arrangement will clear from my head
If I use them as a carefully crafted wail for attention
To twist the bones of every ignorant smile that engulfs me
And drag them to lands of empty cups and emptier liquid days.

As if the woman in the sky would want, if she could want,
Her brick kingdom swept away by piles of meaningless ashes.
Shattered glass from her half cut clocks decorate the deserted floor,
The blackened fingers striking to nowhere and back to me.

And yet, what follows her fleeting wants in panting fashion
Is the most pointless question mark in human existence,
For verbal imprints were never designed to leave cracked lips
And only corrupt memory denies the soul's release

I could litter barely outstretched roads and carpets with pink splatters
To collect other people's plastic badges as a blurry achievement
And yet would 'numb' gain more silent nods than polluted misery?
Or should I release before my lips become a testament to my eternity?

A quarter of a rotted, looted, blackened kingdom towers in the forefront
1/3 dust crumbles to forever contribute confetti to my suffering
The teasing mind dared operate under visions of dented woodland
I'll only embrace death if it holds me like-
We won't get well tomorrow