Jaded lungs and a well of lead, your
Swollen stomach is a pit of embers.
Shallow breaths pull at fruitless strings
And follow your nettled, jackrabbit pulse.
The cards lay like splinters upon your arms,
Hot to burn and cold to touch. There is naught
A sound that weeps like the heart you pulled
From the deck you received and left to rot.
Poison ivy coils tightly around your spine as it
Trails across the lining of your knotted stomach.
You play a hollow symphony of trembling organs
Whistling around the other in a hapless dance.
A smattering of light across the door unveils
The rocking ship of your body, reflecting sage and
Calloused veins where needles are woven into the
Depths of a crimson ocean beneath your skin.
Your lifeblood is eternally stained with worn
And weary timber from the harrowing march.
Beckoning a lone call akin to birds with silent
Wings, you drape your feathers on the floor.