xeleganceisdeadx

He writes words on the walls with his fingertips
Pretending
and seeing his letters forming pagan gods and idols
These letters running silver
quick down the walls
streaking pain down through his arms
Laughing he sees the blood an expose
of an apartheid curse
a castaway in his life circling
the redudancies with his torn cuticles and flesh
sabotaging his words with anguished laughter

His teeth bared and gums awash
with saguine foam pink
rushing surely downward
rivulets showing his damning determination
a reflected gesture of denial
for passion; perfect monk
this is his crucifixion
forever wrapped in paint plastic plaster
reaching forward
into the night
with his famished fingertips
reaching for a face he will never feel
and he will never find