I want a sweeter air
than the sour poison
that passes past my lips
these and other days

I want a brighter sun
than the sick excuse
that limps across my skies
in its hobbled, twisted ways

I want a stronger soul
than the ripped corpse
that lines my heart –
a sodden mess, once ablaze

give me new teeth
that I might sharpen them
on the bones of my past;
let their white glint
light the path ahead
and I will leave my mouth agape
and consume all before me

the trees have all split from the cold
like corpses left out too long in the winter;
and now the sun bores to the core
of each and every splintered wasted warden
seeking for evidence of a heart somewhere,
for the absence of a leaking blood
is concerning…