deepundergroundpoetry.com

Being (Of Flesh)

Flesh is the enemy that keeps me tied to the rotting earth
Flesh is the captor that sings me sweet promises of joy and freedom

I try to do away with flesh
But it clings to my skin and bones desperately

The foul stench of life is overbearing and bright
Red hot breath croaks its way out of lungs

Leaving a trail of blood everywhere I go as my flesh scrapes on the street
No matter how long I walk I may never reach bone

A person
Made of flesh and love

I am not

I am a human among people
Made of unwilling wounds and raw hems

I see and am not seen
Speaking not screaming

I am eternally governed by the parasite that beats restlessly in my chest
Burrowing its way through my ribcage and nestling itself among my tissues

Preprogrammed and temporary
It has made me

Singing sweet promises of a life
That feels like

Living