Waste,
is all effort denied.
It clasps you, at your base.
Shame, lives here,
Nothing. To erase.

Madness,
is to not find yourself,
once you've searched eternities.
Amongst the blades of grass,
where the blood fell.

Whether you walk,
Whether you run,
Whether your fingers will it so.
To be undone,
To lose,
To go.

You cannot outrun, what followed you here.
You've held the rope too tightly,
Don't blame the blunt knife.
For what you'd never sever.

Attempts,
are those of waste,
as the anxious heart, keeps it laced.
It knows your face, it made it.
Hurt,
is the pain you make it,
Dragged here. In this place. To shake it.
safe to do so,
to let it go,
now.
you are one.

Cut off this limb
            you
               never  
                  needed,
but had tied, to the soles of your feet.