These feet

I must be defeated ’cause I can feel it in my feet. they won’t move so that must prove something. beauty in the eye of the beholder is much colder when beauty is the destroyer of I would cry but it doesn’t make a difference to this indifferent wraith admiring my corpse. match-stick make-up of a broken bodied discourse on the arrival of final days of my time here. melt into the spring sun and whisper of devolutions in this archetype of feelings that armored our champions. the blood on the pavement is same in color as the one in my tongue and so i spew it out just to take a breath. i am ragdoll emasculate dog bone tired of limping of toothless magpies pecking away at my thighs and waiting for a word of hope. Disconsolate consolations ring out 20 times over a resonator at the back of my soul’s fading grace and reminds me of the gravity wrenching down on I long for void and nothingness of open space. stop warping my reality with your weight. it shouldn’t have to be my fate to choke on the dust of ugly clouds you surround yourself with I free fall back to the telling unable to escape this fucking pulling of rope bound to my heart’s blackened chambers i remind myself why i am defeated. you could just let go you know. i need a new god because my old one made everything too massive and seperate and vaingloriously narccissistic. i am constantly talking in whisper to this diamond ringed prison

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