A simple gesture,
Measures it's hands to her undeveloped body
The world shades,
I cannot find the vessel
I came with.
I slump over,
erase the dates,
label them collateral
Extend my slender fingers,
And try to find will.
But I can only hear
My muffled whimpers.
I scrub away
To trick the gods
Of my impurity
All I can do however is resume,
Time
claims
no
democracy
The dirt builds,
My hair entangles,
And my feet kick at the life I lost.
I've fallen.
Life
Seemed
Linear
Optimal
To
My
Burned
Eyes
I was dispelled
From my own body
And now I beat on the riddles of my tragic existence
A summation of events,
I keep trying to catch up with.
The spines of your book,
Has been disparaged like mine.
Yet it resiliently opens
While you shun mine.
O' blood
Your connectivity
Plunges me in what you've served.
Invalidation.
Analyzation.
Terror.
Phobias.
I died
Many moons ago,
And I have illustrated
Every nonsensical feat
To justify your backs betrayal
To win favor,
With myself.
Those zombie hands, plagued by consumption, I have never forgiven.
Not even for me.
Creating all the more confusion.
To the liars who will write my biography,
I am still not happy.
