swirl of anonymity

I built this house with concrete stone,
mortar and brick,
steel veins and glass eyes,
and planks of wood the color of flesh.

I built this house with callused hands,
aging bones and the ache of joints
that throbbed into me a will, or a need
to continue to build in spite of myself.

I built this house with blood and sweat,
ash, branches, and rotten leaves.
Into the cracks of the floor I poured
great, horrific pools of ink
that separated and formed again
to shapes like letters that told their own stories
in words I've yet to decipher.

posted by swirl of anonymity @ 2:45 PM