Sometimes I feel
As if my voice is as fractured as my heart
As if all my greatest aspirations are nothing more
Then fragments of faith aligned
Barely sustainable slivers of sound
Chained together by whimsy and taste
Palatable only to those with distant hearts

Workable, functional, purposeful

A rope made of glass

I pull myself slowly and painfully along
Agonizing moments pass
Blood and sweat mix, mingle, and run
Trickling down my arms
Staining me red with mistakes
Drying it leaves dark, crusted resentment

Never cleaned, it remained
Layers built upon layers
Until my own flesh was unrecognizable

Clothed in the red rags of my regrets
I forgot who I was
All I saw was my own sickening reflection

A man obscured by the poisons of his own blood
A man garbed in death
A man enslaved by his own perceptions

A man dressed in red