My mind, a landfill that chokes on sorrow,
crafts a noose out of a bespoke eclipse;
chews pain, reluctant to spit or swallow,
for either way it perniciously sticks.
My body, without essence of a temple,
only a life displaced, a greed unfed;
a mosaic of scars that resemble
a deer lethally killed but not yet dead.
My soul, taken by the tide of my eyes,
occupies death row for another’s crime;
haunted by the shadow of my demise,
the end is forever near and never mine.
My self, a poem both tender and tough,
watch me descend from deity to dust –