jem4water

I thrive for bones, for jutting shapes, Thrive for bitter angulation, Choke my heart and cut my throat, I need that pure admiration. Although I know it takes a hold And slowly it begins to creep, I have no strength, I am not bold, I fear the thing that comes from deep; The ghost runs thin upon my back And slides 'neath feared and supple spine, He finds the pulsing deadbeat sack And covers it in dust; sublime. I will not stop, I will not rest, I cannot feel through Christ alone, Within my side he's built a nest; I hear his ghastly rattling moan. I swipe between this batters' cage Pulled taut beneath my aching skin; I'll pick