thunder on down

Go.

Carve into my legs,

Thunder on down.

View my actions through glasses

Never fit for the purpose I’ve found

Skin subjective at best; objectively fearful

That one day I’ll wake and they’ll have pillaged what’s left

Because there are liars, my love,

They’ve nestled their way

Between the vertebrae of the spine we’ve created

Of the bones grown in the soil thirstiest for faith

The ideal envisioned, the reality stricken, 

The sabotage in the yearning to know

Life where the glass isn’t stained in my home

I’m detached from a reality that was once my own

A mind stripped of vitality in the midst of the summer

Spots in my vision and my whole body discolored

If I were to reside in myself, there’d be no question

Of when the walls will rise from rain-beaten ground;

Who my children will know when I’m no longer around;

Who I will love when all kindness has rotted;

What my life would become if we vanished the sounds that

Burned all our sheets and poured venom in our mouths

That is the lie that I tell myself:

That these are the shackles,

And the storm is the way out.

- M. Rose