Should pain show
the right direction,
aside from
this sluggish bleed,
I swear to be
the first to admire.
For the while,
it carries on
speech that leaks
from a mouth
filled with rotten teeth,
torn testaments.
Appreciation
saves nothing
but seconds
better left on a path
black with decay.
I’m sinking
seconds into hours,
hours into a lifetime
waiting for hope
to boil over.
No hand
has wandered
this way
to remind me.
No fire
has melted away
the crystals
forming this prison.
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