Kensington Ave

A wasted life, now excelled in itself.
With a blade silver and chrome, he asked me to come and look inside his bones.
This room has a floor in which he can't touch. The ropes hang to keep us awake and creep at night to keep us alive.
He said they creep at night to keep him alive. With a shriek so piercing he rattled the pins in his jaw.
With a breath he spilled onto the floor.
I let him scour the walls, his body an empty shell longing for that destined demon.
His gums hurt from gnawing on the ball.
I wish he would climb back from the floor, don't feel alright anymore.
All this flailing has made you weary.
A new wound for the flies gathering in admiration.
I keep my screams behind the gag, he keeps his breath in a glad bag.
With a shriek so piercing he rattled the pins in his jaw.
With a breath he spilled onto the floor.
I let him scour the walls, his body an empty shell longing for that destined demon.
This isn't how he hoped his life would turn out, watching his body turn to dust.
This isn't how he hoped his life would turn out, watching his veins begin to rust.
The camera captures his motion perfectly.
The knot he wears around his wrist so elegantly.
Face deep in the earth, far enough to meet his maker, become his life taker.