The silence grows as I feel my bones retreat from the confines of my flesh.
The dark covers for the stretch of skin,
It wants out.
I feel my boney fingers gnawing under the skin of my back, it wants out.
Skin stretches and tears, I scream yet my mouth remains unmoved,
The feeling both beyond and beneath despair.
My dear skeleton wants out.
It says,
This body is rotten from its core,
Musk and mull decorate the indoors, the flesh a stench of rot.
This body only holds beauty outside my skull,
We deserve a vessel far better than that
We want out.
You're mine, I say.
My mouth of flesh,
My own bone and marrow.
I may be rotten, but so do puss drip from your bones,
My stench, the one of your own.
You deserve nothing.
I deserve nothing? It speaks,
Its skeletal jaw creaks
Nothing more than me,
My own flesh speaks.
My bones lay again down on my back.
It's strange, to see your own skull stare at you, bloodied with your back.
I say,
I am you, you are me,
and You are mine.
