Pick Me Dry

And from my tender chest do hang tatters of ragged flesh,
in the beak of Heaven's might crow do hang my lungs,
my memories and feelings leaking crimson across the stone.
From my ribs there is no more to pick,
from my hips it has ripped my cock in bloody prejudice,
and all that is left are my eyes.
Behind broken glass and mangled frame,
these eyes that have seen too little.
Devoured by the crow that has eaten all I am.

Your song falls on deaf ears,
for my mind is all but gone.
Oh, greatest siren.
I long to hear you one more time,
to calm my thought and settle my soul.
Oh innocent red, now in fabric and in super-hygienic cell,
in masked hands and in supervised medication.
In blood-pressure monitors and feverish dreams.
I am with you in your despair.