Spine

I run my hand
Up the thorns
Shredding me softly
Like a sawblade

Stemming from the pain
Rooted in the spine
Wilted to the core
To bloom on severed vine
--
To bleed upon the seed
See what it produces
To pluck my soul so easily
I seem to have my uses
-
To feed upon the breed
Singing professors in their field
This'll lead to choking
Such collapse reduces
-
To mislead the freed
Elemental carcass bone
Dismissal of the barbs
Leaves, with mass excuses
---
I run my hand
up her back
Shedding tears softly
Silent serenade

Shell all but remains
Conveluted confine
Shedding skin
A plume of distant time
--
Bleed from anti-seed
No longer reproduces
To suck control unreasonably
The needle's hooked it seems
-
To breed upon the weed
Stinging nettle in it's field
Thistle in the reeds
The hook needles it's seems
-
To misread the freed
Judgemental barbarous tone
Epistle of the read
The book needs it(s) seems