I am a patchwork;
My skin is a puzzle.
Pieces tethered by sinews of thought,
Tighter than a muzzle.
Tear yourself from my whole,
Watch my veins unravel
Hear the bark of my soul-
In your pocket it growls.

I am a machine;
My brain is gears.
Feed my circuits energy,
Move my wheels with tears.
Ringing in my clockwork chest,
My heart is a bell.
Find the hour to ring it best,
And it will serve you well.

I am an orchestra;
My hands are violins.
Your hands are relentless whips,
Cleaving flesh and skin.
Rip away my singing lips,
Steal my precious tones.
Make me stutter, make me lisp,
And make my song your own.

I am a skeleton;
My bones want clothes.
Voiceless, thoughtless, inanimate,
Death I make men loath.
See my stripped hollowness,
Hear my torment echo.
Eaten by my weakness,
Digested by time and yellow.

My marrow picked clean
And by buzzard beaks chewed.
Since I have nothing else to glean,
Bones, my Queen- my empty bones for you.