Deadweight

I have a glove full of pointless bones and veins

Sucking the blood from my heart like leaches,

Containing nothing but weight,

I am heavily walking left again.

My complaint stems from the miscalculations of assembly gone wrong.

Five shovels dig their way into my skin as a symbol of rejection.

Poor attempts to even me out consist of asking stubborn men

To believe in something they doubt,

A bona-fide affliction of necessity.

Open my head and examine the threads connecting fingers to the brain.

A simple seed planted in me grew into an interposing tree.

The world has been overlooking obvious signs of informality.

Embrace the light of those speaking without a mouth full of twisted tongues.

Weaved and complexes, ridges like waterways spill

Where the ocean meets the shore of my wrist.

I alleviate the tempting, so tempting urge to unfasten.

This is not a temporary affair. i am prepared to be more helpless.