Concerns of the Inanimate
In many of my attempts to understand
My neural pathways fail me
Overwhelmed with inability
Hinging on its disappearance
The body vanishes and leaves no mind behind it
My eyes find me, they tell me
This is it, it is here and it looks like this
Wrapping me with excess and my senses retreat
My tongue hardens into a concrete ornament
I cannot say, that pain travels
Through us like a vicious parasite
No antidote and no end
Feeding off our skin and what you cannot see behind it
The side that contains the blood and structures the bonesĀ
And all the bits I am glad are hidden
He takes what he can and leaves so little
So little, it is unbearably heavy
So little, that my body becomes
An immobile block of emptiness
My arm as a I write here
Bright with strikes moving through tired veins
Tendons begging for the day the sun comes back
Screams echoing from the bottom of my neck
Traveling to the tip of my finger
Leaving the way silver pins would go in
Penetrating from under the nail
Is there blood rushing to recover and mend?
Concerns of the inanimate,
Death comes back wishing me a good day,
Hoping to resuscitate and rescue my frail hand
Rendered impotent, holding back questions
My animateness drowns me
Where does this pain come from?
Who gives it to us?
Left unaddressed it lingers and lurks
A spirit in the air, a scattered dark entity
An immense omniscience that my nostrils cannot but take it in
It goes nowhere but to the brain
Commanding a cease to the breath
So that when dark scatters come closer
In multiplicity and gloat
They settle inside our nerves
Pain will not leave our corners unattended
It does not miss
it lives on the other side of sharpness.
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