I am but a husk of what I once was. This form I call my own has turned ashen. A cumbersome murmur flickers like a buzz, Dissecting every fiber of my flesh with passion.
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In an attempt to ravel my breath and bone, It made me threadbare — skin coarse with doubt. My glowline figure meant only to atone — I offer my entrails, each piece sincere and devout.
My core scattered like driftwood, I sag under the weight of redemption. Voice like chants that never understood — I serve my tongue, ready for consumption. . . . — Scribble_daisy — — — — — — — — — — — — — □ Revel on this feast, where I lay myself bare — All this for a voice that I can no longer bear.
