Under pathless suns sleep brought no day
but to frailties unwoven. I was abrasive
like black diphtheria dancing in deaf tones
mimicking glass murderers and terracotta demons.
My tongue was a bridge burned down
by trespasses and the sad inequities of despair.
White chances sprinkled on mirrors so I could see
my pathetic excuse of a reflection dying back at me.
I wished fatalities on myself but not by any foe
except for the greatest foe to ever blend into normality- myself.