Creature

sing, song, fall along,

the edge of the sword,

or the world, perhaps because you are bored.

Clanging, banging, the soul till it's torn.

I am not my best, because you are abhorred,

your name's become a mist,

where it was as real as a sword.

Panging, slanging, words until I'm torn.

Eyes, curse, look at the floorboards,

about her face, a cigarette, the roses petals burn,

call them shadows, they are her aura,

they are doors.

On all fours, seeking your mouth,

like an insect crawling on the floor,

I am sick with, a thing I was equipped with,

a heart, fallen like a star, claiming it's only witness.