Twisted Abomination

My eyes have seen many levels of glory and of deceit. 

Scales pull at my pupils and beg for freedom, but are too engrained. 

Tears surge through trying to relieve them of their roots yet they hold firm.

My crooked teeth burn with fury shooting fire up to bleed the blinds away.

My claws twitch and stab their pointed venom into my sockets as I rush for sight, 

But in my foresight I know that no length ran, no height climbed, no depth swum,

can free me from this savage visage.

I am the blood pouring from a heart and the shell that keeps it.

I am the sword drawn only for death.

I am the moment when the soul slips away.

I am the accident with all intention.

If a coward knew my name he would see he is brave.

If a fool could see my folly he would know his own wisdom.

If a mouse could hear my cries he would know of his strength. 

If a boar could feel my heart he would know he is tame.

Feet twisted and bruised from sprinting gravel.

Elbows long dead from protecting a fallen face.

Ears long removed from ignorance.

Lungs viciously torn from reckless wanting.

Insight has only lead me to the corrupted organs

And the blood that oozes between them.

Inside is where from the scales grow,

The fangs sharpen,

The claws learn to bite,

The poison begins.

What hope is built from in-self indulgence,

When this abomination is so apparent?

What life can spurn from the harbinger of death,

When disease is the only language it speaks?

What life can be churned from a mind 

When so full of fallacy and misgiving?

What breath can be derived 

When so limited the perception of air?

I am not.

I am knotted.

I am no.

I cannot know.

I am assent.

I cannot ascend.

I am barren.

I am bare.