of mortal coils, and clay

You demand the whole of me

Primped and primed

Polished. Refined.

The broken pieces made over,

glossed over,

sanded down.

You can forget them

Pretend they do not exist

I cannot.


As is.

As I am.

Take me as I am.

On the back end,

After it is over

You correct me, lament my flaws—

They are many.

You despise them,

The jagged edges

That you cannot forget.


I am the sum of all of my pieces,

torn apart and reformed,

Made anew

From mortal clay

Animated by filaments

The mortal coils

That bind us, one to another.


You require all of me.


Ready to place on your shelf

The masterpiece that you created.

Hollow and void

The pieces that make me shattered

Swept away somewhere

That you will not see, that you will pretend

Not to remember.


Tear me apart

And start over.

But the shards of me,

The ashes,

The dust

They are bound within you.

In that which animates you,

In your waking hour

over and again

I am recreated.

Your masterpiece.



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