Arms swaddled in a moth eaten blanket
My skin peers through the holes, cold and curious;
My young outline taught to constantly fret
By a hidden mother – I’m spurious,
A wretched lust baby from gusty love.  
My useless heart still beating in her womb,
I could drink sallow pity, but enough!
Weary feet shall take me from Phobos, loom
Tall man, your shadow stretches behind me.  
An iron chalice holds my sanguine heart,
Leaking on my bone’s silver tapestry…
Strength does not mean one cannot break apart –
Soon my sadness, rimy stars, won’t matter
When my harsh palms hold my soul like water.