Shin bones aching
body breaking, but
I wear it well.

The lines of life upon the plucked bloom bleed,
nothing there I haven't seen and I will read it
in the stars now that the darker days are here.

They press me down conversely
I am lifted high beyond
the point of no return and my mind
no longer burns with questions that
I feared to ask.

Not taxed or tasked
no onus on me,
I wait to be consumed,
blooms
so beautiful enough to
die
and fulfil some prophecy
yet I
have lingered in the vase
breathed decay to keep
new life at bay or behind the bars
which my hand made.


Laid to rest they say,
I never saw a day that gave me
anything but work and strife,
lines of life?
yeah
okay.