I have a glove full of pointless bones and veins Sucking the blood from my heart like leaches, Containing nothing but weight, I am heavily walking left again. My complaint stems from the miscalculations of assembly gone wrong. Five shovels dig their way into my skin as a symbol of rejection. Poor attempts to even me out consist of asking stubborn men To believe in something they doubt, A bona-fide affliction of necessity. Open my head and examine the threads connecting fingers to the brain. A simple seed planted in me grew into an interposing tree. The world has been overlooking obvious signs of informality. Embrace the light of those speaking without a mouth full of twisted tongues. Weaved and complexes, ridges like waterways spill Where the ocean meets the shore of my wrist. I alleviate the tempting, so tempting urge to unfasten. This is not a temporary affair. I am prepared to be more helpless.