Silk drapes around your shoulders
like a second set of skin,
curling around the negative space that
embraces the emptiness you create,

While the tassels caress your calloused sheilds
that drip down morals and reality; drip drip drip
And it's the clumps of sin that grab hold onto you,
Beating down the walls and burning down your bridges
that you so helplessly created, and in what defense ---

Could this adoration take shape?
Breathing breathlessly and struggling to make a hasty escape?
For one last moment, though, your reminded that your human --
That it's contentment that makes you grip
the hems of your entangled life, and it's the crawling
anticipation of morning drabbles and undying
graves of war, fights, and unreliability that
causes the creases in your eyes,
And it tastes bitter in your mouth, like disgust is being
swirled around within the events of your life;
But when will it cause happiness, is the question.