chicory

And the body screams its discontent...

...
And the body screams its discontent
Of not enough food
Nor sleep or
Want of love.
Never does the lack
Loosen against the chokehold
Breaking yawning fissures into
The artist’s broken dreams,
The singer’s broken life,
The poet’s broken soul.
The waver,
The flicker,
The spot
Of chance and inclusion
Could be the slope-less hilltop
Caught forever in the basking
Twilight of the sun.
But like a well dug too deep
The prospect strikes the solid edge
And buries itself beyond all refuge.
For I am no better,
Drugged,
Stupid and blind,
Mute past all recognition
To a world I thought I knew so well.
The only pound of flesh I had to offer,
Was grabbed up,
consumed by a man
I once tried to trust.
By the nighttime I am aching,
But by daylight I’ll be shaking and
My world comes tumbling down.
There’s never any time
For what remains of the pain
Residual and burning from within
As nothing waited long enough to be put on,
Except the pieces left by the man
I’d almost come to trust.
Home, home, I want to go home,
Where my life was simple and clean.
Home, home, please send me home,
Away to dreams and other
Childish things of worthless intent.
The empty hole,
A hollowed chest,
Leaving my ribs to rust and dust
The lungs do wither,
For if my heart resides in Heaven
It is God who snatched it away.
I am empty with longing.
I am the prisoner outside the cage.
I am dangerous,
For I am free of such a thing called a Heart.

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