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We Were Skeletons
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Disease Artist
Years pass – notes fade and fall away. Days long erased – disease artist's played you to waste. Listen and focus on old song forgotten. Teeth-rotting memory of a mouth-breather singing. B-side insecurities and sweating anxiously. Words once preferred now just empty space between lines. Lack of strength dictates my time. Wasting and wasted, waking to nothing. Pulling on my heartstrings – playing through my mind. Fingertips are bleeding – voice is shouting out, “Death's sweating black-cloud raindrops down on me.” Chest is feather light – mind's starting to lose. Instruments of time make the final move. Disease artist's played you to waste – long erased. Magic tones crackling ancient twenty-three-year-old bones. Ghost muscle aching, pavement fitness failed weakens hopes. Drunk off the drinking that just spills out of my mouth and down to the floor. Stained carpet caked with every last stolen cigarette smoked when I'm bored.
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