Feathers and wax across my back like a cheap crucifixion
I'm used to drifting too close to a euphemism
My youth is missing. Is That you I'm missing?
Call a truce so I can get used to living
You have this fool's permission to choose to listen
The cruelest mission, begging you to forget what you have witnessed
Undue retention, how to undo the tension
Between two tendons I never thought to mention
How I'm lost in a pit with crimson pitch and
A godless pen. How odd is this fiction if we've lived it?