I wear it- to shackle sorrows.
and breathe dynamite
In siren light.

'Purity'
Is blind--
As

Blackness questions
My fabric's regret
I have closed palms
And now I bleed-gum
Frets--

The silhouette-disjointed
With withering away
In disappointment

Digs a trench-
No bigger than a

Whis--per
Saying sorry.