Status is commatose,
I can’t focus on a noun.
Actions or description
right now are not found.
What’s of a beast I get
yet as of late I relate
to mutes and cripples
perplexed in my place.
I’ll spin no new glass,
I feel heat in my hands.
Slip from my fingers
do concepts as if sand.
Do not allow me exude
any words to craft views
of which I understand
what is now to be true.
I refuse to play a God
on this day in the night.
For the wrong or right
I don’t feel much fight.
Tired are the limbs in
my vessel I as if a tree
in the fall I now shed
dead discolored leaves.
I see you alone stunned
are budding linguistics.
I feel a blissful ignorance
but warmth so simplistic.
Your form births from
substances formless fluid.
For you’re the only thing
consuming my mind’s id.
What shall I do forcing
movement in this spot
when after eyes saw you
I became what I’m not?
Reason is malfunctioned,
art does not flow so wide
here where it dissapears
I’ll try and heal the divide.
