Clouds Overhead
You live within a picture. Scraping off paint with your teeth.
Climbing two-dimensional, and hate what you see.
They take your eyes to sell you tears, with your throat full of lead. Scaly justice.
The stillness feels natural if you let yourself forget.
To spot on the ground and ignore the rose the blooms.
Hooks all through you.
Grind your heel to dust, pack the hole with earth, pretend you can feel the heart beat.
Tell yourself you can still feel it. You’ve felt it.
While your teeth contort and your tongue lolls and your kidneys whisper those names you were never told.
Just a pane of glass and it’s all gone.
It’s all the same back ache, in the end.