Viola of Bone

Failing once is never

enough, for the tattooed mile


markers of Paradise Lost etched bloody

on your dominant arm are merely


the finely tuned craftsmanship of catgut

constantly failing.  Can there be a grander


aesthetic of complete failings?  Clutch the ground

as if it could save you.  Dust is not


necessarily interested in ballads sounding

in a metronome of broken things.  The glory

~~~~~~~~~of suffering

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~is constant self-deconstruction.


1 Comment

  1. Reblogged this on disdainfulbeauty.

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