Singed

I move my life to marching drums, carving paths into my bare palms. You showed me how to play apathy I've never begged to a silent god more than when I dreamed of empty tables and riots in my wardrobe (instead of lions or snow), but then you glowed through the mist of my mind, and thoughts of you were all I could find in the cavernous space in my head- for all I knew every nerve ending had left me empty, and wired with an endless map of veins; built, from the ground to the ceiling with the yarn of life. You cut through all my knots now I'm a mess of frayed ends and more pieces than you could ever imagine. You threw me to the sea, I was swallowed by the brackish shore-line which coils itself into the monsters that hide around every corner I turn. Will you never learn that nothing you do helps me to stand, you just split my seams and spill my contents onto the floor. If you learned one thing from your mother it was never to cry; not over spilt milk, anyway. My heart beats cracks into my ribs, but my hands hold the sun it shines through my fingers, scorching each one of my nails and curls me at the edges (singed) the earth will never turn enough to spin me from its surface, so I guess I'll have to jump and swim to the brim of the stars while they bloom in the night sky, a black sheet of pin-pricks burning white against your charcoal surface. sometimes, my pupils feel like frosted glass but then I turn to your Good Book and that lonely feeling swells in my chest. I feel more at home when I'm floating somewhere above your head or maybe into happiness again but I will never see any more than what I've seen. I will never skim the surface or go anywhere I've never been. I am stuck living quietly, angry at myself for falling into this rut. and, to be quite frank there's no one I'd like to thank more than you (or the Goliaths you sent chasing my skirts)