When will these wounds clot?
Is it from pond or sea that
The umbilicus drinks?
I have no money and no morals.
I am without friends
I cannot speak of the DNA within
For I’ve no inkling to my beginnings.
A great many things will kill a man
When conducted in excess.
(Solitude is by far the slowest way to die.)
I have only scars and they alone entice me.
I cannot involve others in my suicide
However, impervious these cells to my efforts.
With each death the madness quickens.
I have broken men apart with my bare hands,
Bones a’splinter, organs slit from their casings
I am a butcher, a man rejected by death.
Today I am lucid.
Today I seek the one
Who has condemned me.
Poor, decrepit soul that I am
Do not hamper me with signals
With teeth bared and bridges asunder
Allow me only to pass
From these multifarious skirts
Into the great, abhorrent beyond.
Do not speak to me
Of your unrequited loves,
Of your suffering
For it is my soul that has been stripped
And I’ve nothing left to spare you.
First let me say there is something up with my microphone which has given a very strange effect to the reading. I recommend having the volume low on this one. I had thought of scrapping the audio because my microphone is not working correctly but my reading is good/vehement so I kept it. I actually find the reading with the microphone effect, content, and delivery to be scary and I read it lol This poem is based with creative license on