Can You Hear Me?

Sewn shut -

skin like glass over ache,

and so much hate that worms inward.

And no thread.

No path from heart,

to head.

Can you hear that?

Hiss and crackle and low lying snaps,

shifting dirt,

rat traps.

Mouse traps.

No matter the size of the prey,

the result?

So much more of the same.

Did you hear that?

The creak of bending bones and snapping fibres,

the whisper of mania,

the murmur of void divers?

Thoughts with no home.

Not alone even here.

Dig deeper,

go darker,

there's silence at the bottom.

Peace against the wood of the barrel base, yes?

But in the gloom,

in the ink of the self,

no face.

No touch, no breath of wind,

or whisper of love.

Can you hear me?

Up there on the shore, in the light and breezy,

in the warm,

under the sun where sight and

sound,

speech - its easy...

Take the words in your mouth and carry,

seed them in the mud,

save them from the fuzz.

The low slung clouds,

the blood black murk.

Can you hear me?

Or is the hiss of air,

the fizz of blood,

the clatter of fear...

is it too much?