this skin i've inhabited
drawn out and lucid against
the chalkwhite bones of
emaciated decemation
is not failing me in its
prisonlike grandeur;
the bars are still casting
their shadows across my face
where the lines are cutting
angles across the empty space
they once inhabited;

but this is not a problem.
there is a (thin) line between
beauty and grotesque, one
which i gladly cross
back and forth over
until

i cut a path between
starvation and damnation;
it is growing ever impossible
to discern this diminishing line
from my vanishing point-

and soon, i will not need
to break out of this prison
i will already be free.

05/01/2005

Posted on 05/02/2005
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams