Spiral! Spiral! Spiral!

I’m an explorer for what I want to know,

yet perceiving only wrongs in glances and sentences.

Here sat at an impasse between your realities

as I choose demise between falsehood and aching truth.


I rely on you to say

If there’s explanation required behind masks

or the expressions are exactly the whole of their parts.

I’ll be sapped at command in waiting rooms,

transferred to accompany your loving indecision.


Waved hands beckon to everywhere nonspecific.

I long to uncover the somewhere I find in you

when I swear a shine hits a gaze a certain way,

sparse enough evidence to hold steady the art of fantasy.


I rely on you to say

if this conversation tone is steps closer to rest,

or the sound of an abating echo discovering oblivion.

Maimed in self-throes in tangled motivations,

I’ve but traces to affection buried in dried blood,

writing judgement across for what is and what is not,

neither seen in an eye beyond mine.


The butcher’s hand is my own device

to excavate the best as if to stave off a flooding ship,

laying to the floor until a skeleton remains.


I rely on you to say

if this is the beauty I’m meant to portray

or if I wasn’t even noticed in flesh or otherwise,

proposing prose to the concept of you,

never attainting the attention of the person,

but the act ahead of actuality.


To make a judgement call off of emptiness,

I’ll improvise our interactions.

The nothingness is enough to savor me

as it drains me further still.

~

❤ Mitch

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