Rebuilding the past

There's madness here/the terror of loneliness/
the pain of isolation. I want to end silence
in the grave of my chest/my lungs lunging into

the sharp points of ribs/the bleeding teeth
of bone bursting into the flesh/of leaves
still crumbling into rust/in the cruel palms

of the evening wind-rebellion. There is no thing
walking down the edge of darkness/near my
tongue/where every bad thought finds voice/&

all the demons howl their delight. The sun is an
eye into hell/& Lucifer stirs that cauldron with
a bagpipe. There is sentient music in the land

of my skin/the scrape/scratch of nails stowing
runaway pain/into the runnels of blood/that
leach colour from the canvas of identity into

my hunger to be free. I will go back into the
overgrown foliage of the past/wack the debris
of old sails & oxidated manacles/from the shore

of tender memory. Maybe my heart lies there/the
fragile leaf defoliated from that unfinished ship/
within my chest. I will build it up into a flesh eating

thing/swollen with the blood of innocence/& from
there i will wander into your open hands/so you
can be cruel to me one more time.

Image Credit: Pixabay

Yours always,
Osahon (warpedpoetic)