This perpetual ooze from this wound
always bleeds bright, fresh, and new;
blood seeps and creeps its way into
along the heart of the vein attached to you.
This empty stare I see everything through
these hollowed-out marbles belonging to:
this sad, distrusting, and broken-down fool
see only darkness replenished ever-anew.
This weight of the anchor to my own self-hatred
the fence around the graveyard to hold in the dead;
these bones mark every piece of me already put to rest
retched years – wasted tears – and my own, lone cemetery.
This coldness, so long without the sun’s vitamin D
this turmoil and trauma, these scars they’ve left me;
a good foresight is countered by miles of tragedy
set ahead and left behind by the return of these two feet.