This body of mine, bears no resemblance to the creature that lives inside.
Certainly the mind is willing but the flesh is weak. Or is it just that the mind isn't willing enough?
Trapped.
Every angle, every turn.
I can't defeat the fatigue that comes with an unyielding beat.
I can't control the pulse that races,
the limbs that twitch
and the torso convulses.
These hands that trace shoulders and arms, a body clean from these inside scars.
The fingers like daggers wished for seem, to distract from this nightmarish dream.
But beneath this frame that trembles and shakes, there is a boy with hopes unseen.
A man perhaps trapped through habit and fear.
A person whose body though battered and bruised, scarred and used, wishes
to be just like you.