The gospel of flesh and blood

What is this thing that drives me
like a puppet prancing
with no life of my own

no feeling passes unmarked
no cloud lifts unmentioned

write
share with an uncaring world
all your shattering revelations
that don't mean a thing
unless seen through the prism
of your own restless eyes

bare all
every ugly truth
and contemptible blemish
scored deep into your bones

so when the floods of time have worn
the sharpness from my edges
these petty words
can remind me of who I used to be