When words settle

When our words settle
all we're left with is skeletons
on which we weave
the traces that remain
of our existence
stitching our hollow heart
to leaking blood vessels
jailing it in ice-cold rib cage
pumping within us
fragments of hope, seasonal joy,
some harmless superstition,
quizzing ourselves with trivia,
fictitious memories whitewashing 
anything that no longer fits
anything that jars
with our little diaries of amnesia
anything we can no longer live with or without
exchanged at the plastic market
for do-it-yourself lobotomy kits
promising us relief
from ourselves
from what is
from what we have always asked for.

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One thought on “When words settle

  1. linusdaddy on said:

    not so much a lament as a lame end

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