a shivering reminder of the things I’d done before,
the man that had been buried is protruding from the floor.
awakened by the stirring of the sounds that had been made
the man I thought was dead, it seems, may now be here to stay.
his tender wounds beneath the skin are still trying to heal;
but the vessel cannot heave the weight, the blood cannot congeal.
this man the world has made of me is not who I’m to be,
the gangling creature looming in the shadows over me.
not quite a demon, nor a guardian of any sort;
this mimicry of me is now beginning to contort.
a mockery of what once was, I must confess, it’s close.
to the impression i must make, when feeling quite morose
...
but once I can transform my heart to harbor in its plight
the center will unfold and be revealed within the light.