Architect

Icy
Cold and though my chest like a cathedral
Is filled with sounds of symphonic worship
My lips are locked.
Sealed to keep the winter out
But churning up old snow.
The dogs that prowl my perimeter
My salty shield against the slush they throw
The spine-like staircase spiraling inwards
To each booth, another crevice
To file each thought.
Organized into separate lines
One after another
After another
After another
Until the walls burst like buttons
From a coat too small.
And I preach to a crowd of Mes
Each a variation of the bricks
I've laid to keep my complement
Frozen.
Taking charge of this energy
This heat my body creates
To hopefully furnace a new copy
Not carbon
But malformed.
Though for now
My heart beats
As if screaming in a sound-proof room.


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I made myself stop writing so I could eat food before work instead of starving myself. I fear my adjustments are for naught. My solution is to work harder and fuck up less. All I need is within me. So there is where I will be.