Fragmental

Starting at the kneecap.
Digging claws just beneath.
Peeling it up and back.
To count the rings of sinew.
Age.

It puts up a fight.
It holds on tight.
And as it rips away.
Feeling disconnected.

This part of my leg.
Holds no connection.

Demented.
Unhinged.
Hell bent.

Dangling in sway like a sitting child who can't reach the floor.
Like a strand of spit being caught by a gust.
Dripping ever so slowly downward to test my patience.

Until it hits the puddle and ripples.
Cripples.
As even the hottest of days, a breeze tortures open wound.
Something i won't sweat.

No longer capping anything.
Unrecognizable blob of skin and blood.
.... the dismembered too.
Both just sitting there.
Laying there.

Vestigial.
No repair.
Unfocused.

Beyond masochistic into curiosity.
With no self of self.
In pieces.

Just letters sent to fragmented words.