Lately: Still Life
I take my coffee cold Do not leave to go outside And in an effort to concentrate these hours pass by A silent stupor weighs heavily on my chest All of this time spent playing the puppeteer and his puppet I am the director and the cast I am the hand that steers the pen I am the beginning to my end The strings I have fastened to my skin They prop up my shoulders Ego? Pride? They bury themselves in rotting flesh and sting There is a particular pleasure in this pain Marked by an eternal pursuit for constraint then release A moment between exhale and inhale Rear your head back and quiver When I cannot not fail I yearn to feel When I must not fail I inflict a sharp pain to awaken the sensesTo destroy my body and mind temporarily In ways that are oblivious and of little consequence And I can no longer stare with distaste at the strings I have fashioned Every script is monitored before it hits the floor All of this With complete intention Do not speak out of turn Polish all mannerismsLike a well tuned piano There is no song without this rhythm And when I release my grip Let these tired shoulders drop cold Know that I should never have dared to be this bold Stiff and dipped in a greying blue Let me be without endstill as an untouched surface