The abandoned Work of Creation at a posh, high end Art Exhibition

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Crouching into your own body
Implanted in your seed
stone glued to existence forever
Eating your own flesh
Ridding your body of ice
with the warmth from other people's
spit
they sling it with force
they hope with bright eyes to bruise
but its just nice to get a nudge from someone,
anyone,
now and then
Before their spit was an insult now a
commodity
it helps with the surviving

You are the sum of all animals ever caged
In pity you are beautiful
a glass figurine
feelings are fragile
actions are stern
Arms crossed in a stance of past defense
they stay that way long after the fight has left
the feeling of flight has replaced it
along with the trapping presence of claustrophobic-ism

Does my head hang low?
You ask to the bird crowing
atop your head
a wisp of your voice is heard
the bird keeps crowing
you return without that trace of faith
you were looking for
but you put it there
in that nauseating bird of savages
you hoped

Sculptured
Of some human plaster
forged from the blood of your lips
you sit like the monster from a child's mind
scary
though harmless
you have just taken on the form of the
demented
you bleed your own encasing
and it drips from your spickit
molding you into the side of the wall
hauntingly an innocent bystander
of circumstance





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