I should have left already.
Paid my final dues to no one
and escape
this poison pain
I know courses
through my veins as blood.
I cannot escape this in life.
Though chains keep me
bind to something I do not want
do not hold
something that uses my corpse
to walk
and talk
a puppet
that hold its hands
around my heartstrings
pulling them out
forcing me to feel
every moment
visceral and deep
before
continuing continuum
of reducing my art
to blood and flesh
surely sorely given
digging deep scratches
that pool and shiver
wrapping bramble vine
on contradicting constricts
of understanding
and acceptance.
I am an artist.