Of Sticks and Broken Bones

Drag your weary veins across the dust

This fresh desert minces soul and bone

To bleed admits defeat and cracks the spirit

The crack begets a crevasse if left alone



The haunting feel of falling drains the color

Like instigated flickers of the flame

The scissor-sound of burning breaks your temper

It's time the windless whispers knew your name



The mask has slipped and shown your murdered merit

You hear the fear in silent stuttered songs

You mash your mangled mane to save some face

The witch and wardrobe know your wicked wrongs