Stitches
Shelley wove us a tale of a monster more a man
A fleshy beast without, a broken heart within
Created in hubris and sin
Stitched together and broken
Again and again.
Frayed and tattered
Unraveled and splintered
Brittle and battered
Bled out and injured
Held together by needle and thread
Less alive and more or less dead
A patchwork man, soulless and cold
Unmended scars numbers untold
I walk amongst mortal kind
Hollow and undefined
Shattered by gales that went unheeded
Fractured by loves I thought were unneeded
Beaten and bruised
Tethered and chained
Forgotten and used
Raw with such pain
Like the monster I have no place
And cannot recognize my face
A living specter, an echo, nothing more
A hollow husk ghost to abhor
An unraveling fragment of human decay
Knotted and grafted with threads of grey
This weathered walking grave dust
With gaping wounds and soul rust
Cracked and threadbare
Bleeding and burnt
Unseeing stare
Wishful that he weren’t
Laced with regret and sutured with sorrow
This wight pleads for no tomorrow
Haunted and hunted by absence and grief
This Frankenstein monster finds no relief
Shadow shackled, stitched in despair
He fades, unraveling, into thin air
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