distraught hands, wrinkle face, cracked out lighter
a fire used for smoking cigs and crack;
a burning which you are the only fighter,
but you like the burn, the empty black

inside your lungs, and organs, void of life,
but you are you, still moving, to – crash,
deteriorate, into roaches rife
with living. You are alive, but as hash-

marked-meat, a vessel for the vultures
yelling as crows, with anger in silence
and calm resentment, held with stiff sutures
like a dead doll, button eyes pulled for pence

or dime. Ordained as evil, you are human
I’m here to hear you cries, as hell is moving.