1. |
Memories Like Shrapnel
01:17
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My body separates at the words.
No longer calming, this voice like arrows carves no name into bark endearingly.
It cleaves and martyrs where it touches and arrests each breath.
This life our hands shaped inflames and blisters like flesh around shrapnel,
smothering the memory.
I’ll wear the knives as they lay,
all there is of the absent touch,
there along my spine, like markers for graves that hold each memory.
I’ll wear the knives,
I’ll wear the arrows,
I’ll carry the shrapnel in my arms now empty.
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2. |
Sincerely, Garroted
01:18
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Fill my mouth with soil,
cover me with frigid earth.
Hang me from the ramparts, let my neck and rope acquaint.
Lay me in the embers, let my body rest in coals.
Open both of my wrists, carve my epitaph in flesh.
Hostage to no will, I forfeit.
The garrote moves me, strings above marionette.
I see no hope in the dawn, no merit earned with struggle
I can fight this war no longer.
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3. |
Excision
02:35
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Behind the nerve of each thought
lies the harsh voice of another,
an invasive growth that speaks
with words that should be my own.
Where I step, where I lay,
where I peel back skin, I see only your face.
Hands laying mercy,
put sharpened edge to vein.
Pry teeth under skin and resect the touch
that withers and atrophies.
You will not thrive inside me,
where your breath falls
will be no cross I’ll bear.
I will do as I must to live so my spite survives.
You will not thrive inside me.
You will not contort and shape this life.
Malignant voice under tissue, with scalpel,
I tear you out.
My spite survives.
Every breath is remission.
Every breath is my revenge.
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4. |
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I felt a love that was something like
an embrace from God,
and the moment it was stripped from arms
was as if God himself whispered in my ear
“you are my greatest failure.”
I believed that I held the spark
that brought inferno to Eden,
that I alone must bear the weight of such cancer.
From this feverish coma, awake.
No love would yield such abandon,
no love felt true would delight in this.
Love is patient, love is kind,
and I look about this darkness
and know your heart was capable of neither.
And my hands bore claws,
and my mouth bore fangs,
and when I saw that no path led from this hell,
with my hands and teeth,
I made my own.
No path led from Hell, so I made one.
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5. |
My Fractured Path
03:31
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Naked feet fall to the path I now must walk,
torn and avulsed from shards of what remain,
fractured from the memory.
No insect, no animal
has endured what I have done,
gnawing limb from snare to survive,
born of instinct (not of want).
This tattered spirit bows,
these broken hands let go.
I am not without fear,
as I have never known this world alone.
Hands shivering hold no shield
as I go into the world
beneath skies of starless night.
This tattered spirit bows,
these broken hands let go.
I surrender the ghost
of a life I no longer recall
beside the same of letting go.
I am the shard, I am the fracture.
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