The Flesh I Never Chose

The flesh I never chose, yet wear,

A borrowed husk, a cross to bear.

Each nerve a thread the demons bind,

Each breath a curse, each silence blind.

It moves, it speaks, it bears my name,

But underneath, it’s not the same.

This skin was stitched with someone’s lies,

A canvas stretched on severed ties.

Sometimes it feels it can't be real,

Just static thought I shouldn’t feel.

A twitch beneath the mind’s abyss,

A joke the void returns with bliss.

Then crawling comes beneath my veins,

Like insects hatched from iron chains.

I feel it rise, I feel it slide,

The thing that coils itself to hide.

It whispers: “You were built to break.

You are the flaw. You are the fake.

So smile now, go wear your face,

And rot inside your rightful place.”

The mirror grins, a fractured god,

Reflecting meat, obscene and flawed.

Its gaze is steeped in cold disdain,

Amused to see I still remain.

I close my eyes, but it won’t fade,

Its laughter sharp as rusted blade.

And all the world just folds to black,

Then claws its filthy fingers back.

I lie in bed and beg for sleep,

But lay awake where willows weep.

And every night, the dark takes hold,

It wraps around, it bites, it’s cold.

This is my body, so they say.

Then why do I want it stripped away?

I didn’t ask for tooth or bone,

To breathe, to bleed, to die alone.

I want to scream, but sound won’t stay,

My throat just fades and slips away.

I try to pray, but gods don’t care,

They made me wrong and left me there.

If I could shed this form tonight,

Step out and vanish from their sight.

No death, no fire, no fatal blow,

Just wind to take me soft and slow.

I’d go. I’d go and not return.

Let bridges fall and temples burn.

Let them forget the cursed prose

Of one who wore the flesh she did not chose.

Reviews

[Desert Knave]

Such a visually rich and nicely rhymed piece. Kudos. ~Jim