A human male.
Cold shells buried deep, buried deep under iced sheets. Snow-covered bloodied limbs, bloodied limbs now no longer heat. Footsteps leading away, Leading away from devilish play.
How would I look, All pieced together. Complete and polished, Like a shiny new book. Would pieces fit together, Nubbin to slot. Colors since faded, From a lifetime of weather.
Time and space, A confusing course. Change of face, Meaningless discourse. Old time and fling, Twisted tongue, awkward stares. Show off your bling, Must you even compare.
Hey Mr. Moon, why the long face. Whatever is the matter, Did you fall from grace. Hey Mr. Moon, nice craters and dust. Your contours so edgy, Like handmade pie crust. Hey Mr.
Pins and needles, bites of fire ants, Tingle down my legs and burn through my pants. Bolts of lightning, my electrical torment, I turn and toss, will it not relent.
Obscured in the shadow of an old pine tree, Light splits the needles, through a window I see. He walks through the kitchen making his usual rounds, The chatter, despicable laughter, is all that...
It pains me to see, Your withering leaves. So slightly, your drooping stems, No longer reaching towards heaven. It pains me to watch, As your soil dries up.
The sole lifts up, swings, and scuffs the cement. Swinging laces, knotted, with ends frayed. Leather dry, cracked and faded, flexing and stretching with every movement. Another lift, swing and...
Trees project high overhead like spires towards the heavens. As I lay here, or perhaps more correctly, as gravity works upon my mass, gently tamping the loose soil, the broken twigs and leafy decay.
I could use a miracle right now.