Hemorrhage of an Innocent Yet Deadly Skeleton's Smock
I once believed that fullness felt like this-
the trick that lay in my skin’s thick nature.
But I’d quickly learnt that the foul truth’s hiss
hid deeper than any dermis could measure.
For wasn’t it strange?
Those sins we found seceded?
Trapped in our skeletal range.
Those mischiefs we all but heeded.
Bleeded it dry.
Forming skintight loathsome alibies.
But what of our demise?
Nothing we couldn’t regrow from our lies.
A hemorrhage deep to those foul blusterous trenches-
our webbings caught us tied.
Such ignorance as suffocation drenches
our minds that willingly would abide.