may i forever be a coward
for when i find courage
i will be dead

to you whom i hold near —
you've yet to receive my heart
each beat is ridden with your name
writhing, bursting in pain
that is to be without your gaze
though you have mine in all your days

to you whom i hold high —
do you feel the breeze i've yet to feel?
how does it feel to be loved for nought,
but for and from all i've got?
you float, but i keep the line taut
allow me this — to fly, you cannot

you know me a little too much
and a little too not enough

you know me in a way
no one else will ever know

you can never tell
my hair or toes apart
nor my fingers to my eyes

but you know what's mine
my words, my song
all things that make you feel

then they are cruel
for i have wailed and kicked and begged
for this felt pain to be taken.
i've longed for the end constantly,
even in times when i forget.

it has been fortunate
to have travelled stories
with my hands

hands of my own
felt rise and fall,
heave and **,
and to and fro

the tincture of air
engulfs the absent trees:
***** trunks, grotesque and amiss,
inferior to my hands

a bashful melody
escapes my mouth.
sonically stimulating,
a tinge of an aurgasm

i mourn humbly
for ye who have not travelled far.
feel the hills,
your deep valley,
the gangling stems,
soft blades that shy beneath you.

i mourn for myself
a quiet tantrum whispering
for i have joy spilling
like a spring of life
just within my reach.

i will never know more
than the clockwork stories
my hands have told

the onset of my descending mind: -
i remember it well

a baby flower
barely a flower
picked it up
told it to grow
grow
GROW NOW
GROW
scolding, screaming

ripped it apart,
unfolded its wings.
desperately tried to retreat
tried to fix itself

irrevocably exposed
efforts wasted
seethingly hurt

crying
CRYING
why did i do that

the foreshadowing
of my comeuppance