the earphones that deliver my reality;

strains of a delicate melody

that twists its way under skin,

songs of (others) pain making my bones ache, becoming

the story of my life.

outside- they cannot hear, I cannot share.

their chatter

muted, perhaps on purpose?

---

beneath layers of flesh and sinew

my bones deceive with their stark white simplicity:

because surely they are papier mache moulded

layered from raggedy scraps of paper scrawled with

sentences, that simply took your breath away

and realising, suddenly:

.................if I were deaf I could not hear

.................if I were blind I could not see

---

I watch my fingers holding a sharpened pencil

marvelling: the elegant bend of bones

a structural framework

.living.

realising:

.............if I were dead, I couldn’t be.

---

(and, kid:

that song isn’t yours;

we all know the melody -

they play it on mtv)