Born Words
The white skin of this
Newly acquired messenger
Fresh and waiting for the ink
Of my needle
Vibrates on subatomic level
As I tattoo new verses
I ache like the old man
Collection of heartbreak
Inviting beaten bones
Along this singular path
Of dissolution
I'm awaited
Crowded
Needed and exposed
A quite life
Where the sounds in my head
Are becoming harder, louder
By each syllable of thought
I struggle to deprogram
It must be done to grow
To live
To breathe air that doesn't burn
To hear clearly that voice
That is not
Unlike my own