I try to put words together

I try to put words together

But they don't fit.

They don't mesh.

I twist them around

Shake and toss them

And still no shape.

​

I have used many.

Picked them myself,

Like grapes from a vine

But instead of wine

They turn sour on my hands.

​

They seem to be sapped

Empty from the inside

Once filled with power

Now possessed by a void

Same as a years-old corpse.

​

Fitting it is then, given that I look dead

Feel that way, but not quite.

To wield these hulls like a craggy shore

Collecting shipwrecks.

Neon lights on the shady part of town

Shining dimly, refusing to die.

​

My Own Worst Enemy

The Artist