Tatters, ruins and splinters

I am the needle in the softness of your conscience's pillow
In its silk I silently wallow, somewhere in limbo or below
I am the pink freckles around your nose
You may not like them, but there, against your will, I proudly pose

I am the red nebula of your hair
With my tentacles I embrace your shoulders
I fall in your eyes, so everything's ablur
I am your last cigarette that left in grass, forsaken, smoulders

I am your palm, open, soft and pale
Sometimes taking, mostly giving
I am your tongue telling this tale
So unsure about the happy-ending

I am the architect of your darkest thoughts
Which are instantly delivered into your mind
I am your brain cells' mass hysteria
I grow through you and to myself subtly bind

On gallows we stand
And I am the neck surrounded by a noose
I am the rope that around your nape strand
I am the shivers; I am the skin of a goose

I am the barrel that underneath your body sways
I am the pendulum of fun and bore
I am the varnish on your toe's nails
I so meticulously applied the night before

I am the merciless gravity
You so often tried to defy
I am your forever lost dignity
When you fall and soundlessly die.
I am.
Scat(he)
t er
ed. Tat
te rs. R u i
n s.
An
d . S pl i
nt
ers.
Of your integrity.
I are you and you am I.
I am the lips kissing your twitching feet
I am your nakedness' black widow
I am who you are.