I transpose a verse in perfect harmony.
Specks of self-loathing fall from pitch and pattern.
Words backfire, break, and delude,
Into nothing more than a harmony.

I break apart a God complex larger than myself,
But still find I am the root of an apathetic religion.
I am broken, brittle, taut, but untaught,
I am nothing more than myself.

I speak to ears from days of lore.
I send for memories ago.
Passages forgotten, buried, and bruised,
Forgotten with the word of *your.