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