Isn't it strange
How those far gone
Appear so lovely?
Their skin holds the brightest trace
Of wonderment and innocence
Though clenching it tightly
Between bone and vein
Their pallid flesh stretched thin
Like white feathers
Soaked through with lake water
Glassy eyes staring out at nothing
The darkness of remorse
Clouding over their cracked-plaster smiles
The faceless people teeter across
The tripwire strung between worlds
The tendrils of death coiled tightly
Around their wrists
Blades of grass
Cling with blood
To their discolored ankles
And from their lips creep
Broken exhalations of farewell
They are already gone, their bodies habitable graves
Crumbling into the Earth
Their coffins are the most beautiful,
Laced with ashen roses and seaweed bruises
Regression threatens endlessly
The meat-noose lingers knowingly
They are not themselves
Nor have they ever been
It would take a needle to their brains
To make things right again