I shudder and shake, my skin is no home
My body is no shrine
Unless you count it as defiled, this despairing temple of mine.
Cracking foundations and crumbling walls
Haunted hallways hide nothing at all
My words echo throughout this failing facade
My form does crack as the laughter moves on
No, my skin is no home and my mind is not safe
Not when it’s my words, my own thoughts
That so haunt me when I’m awake
My own voice does mock, my own fist does pain
No, my body is no temple, for it’s been defiled, degraded
And it was my own self that did cause this fate.
They talk that chatter, they’re all a twitter
With no chatter without laughter it me that is the joke
Me they mock, make of fun, and deride
Yet behind the laughter I hear their darkness
The sobs and scars they hide
All are harmed, none are safe
Even the laughing voices behind my eyes
The voices that deride, and tear me down
Even as I cry inside.
A pitiful pittance, a poor little portion,
Doubly damned and definitely doubting,
Faltering, floundering, assuredly a failure.
Damned and doubting and defiantly deplorable,
Just drowning in despair.
Please help me I’m drowning I cry and none can hear
I’m faltering and failing, falling ever faster
Drowning in the open air.
So I go to smoke, and make my words do such a dance,
Perhaps the drifting curls of heat will put me in a trance,
Seeing the wind take the remnants of burning breath away
Might put some light inside my mind, renew some hope for the day.
Oh it rants and rails its wants and needs but its persistence leaves me quite unfazed.
In part, perhaps not totally for this rhyming is the symptom and the mark, the current mood the cause,
But I’ll persist and continue despite this moment of disarray, though it certainly has caused a bit of dismay.
I worry not and soldier on, despite my muse deciding to take this moment to play.
I’m saying I feel strange and in disarray, disjointed and disappointed,
In me and my seeming to the point that my perception of of my imperfections is insisting
upon an insurrection upon the tyrant of this established existence so that my fleeting
moment might fade and falter and fastly degrade, disappear, as if I were but a dream, a
made up seeming, something that was never really there at all.
Detached and deranged and oh so strange they did so think they were not real.
So climbing a tower they thought to peel they did a dance and thought to glance upon the high noon moon and fall upon the sun.
However, all they did was fall upon the asphalt.
With a splatter, with a splash, to quick they proved a lack of thought,
But an overindulgence of courage and some real guts.