This Sect

Calligraphy With A Brick

Words aren’t fully formed
Incomplete and shivering
They just fall out my mouth
And cling to my fists
Like black cancer tar

Syntax lost its meaning
Page is like a football street
And our ink is bleeding

I try to make sense
To communicate
Got a point to prove
It’ll come across
Through grit teeth
And slurred words

My finer sensibilities
Part cooked, part raw

Can’t do calligraphy
With a brick
Can’t shoot Cupid’s bow
With snakes for arrows

The lump in my head
Pulses and throbs
As each thump resonates
With cluttered echoes
Of riddles and regrets

It seems like crystal logic!
When I was assembled
They messed up a spot
Should’ve roomed a calm
Now it seems like a vacant lot

Got some beauty sleep
To catch up on

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