So lay your fears right down.

My demon, my pet, my master.

Set those blades to the skin made of plaster.

And let it slide over the canvas like a work of art,

And let it fall into the canyon you’ve dug into my spine, let it hit the shards.

Let me feel the parts.

Let me feel your eyes.

And let me feel the weight of the cards as they’re shuffled one last time.

If I fell over my words and your intent,

Would the sound touch your heart,

And would it be singing?

Would it be bringing

The blood home from your head to your cheeks?

And did you feel our departure for weeks?

Or was it more like a day,

Because the dye in one’s hair will at some time fade away,

And the smile you once wore will at some time be lead astray.

Just let those Sirens tell you what matters to your hands and feet,

When they play a rhythm on your eardrums that sounds a lot like a heartbeat.

A sound from the kitchen,

She’s cooking her grenade.

A sound from the basement,

She’s planning our parade.

A sound from the curtain,

Oh, please I ask of you, don’t you look that way.

The philosopher had an answer,

As he felt the curing of his cancer.

He saw the stains and I know he felt it,

Felt the spot where his brain had melted.

Felt the breeze from an open doorway,

Saw my glance as it peaked over at his stance,

Which was flattened, weak and limp.

He took the skin and bones of a wimp,

And he laid them on me with his gaze,

One I knew came from weary days.

I took notes.

He made a shrug.

I knew he missed her hug.

I knew she missed the kiss of life,

And the time before the grave was dug.

I felt a question in my lungs now,

I felt it take up the space,

I wonder, tell me how

Is my pace?