Surly Demise - Shannon Wright

This state it cannot be sound

For seeing through

The day with fresh eyes

Try to lick these bits

Back into place

These tanks bore there wintry weight

To wake to these scraps of morn

It bears a stone

And that’s what i’ve become

These legs are built upon a surly demise

We all reach for a hand in

which we will guide

Let’s sit quiet and we shall not stir

Your mouth is fragrant

And lassoing this room

And never is too long to date

Your crusty petals are prying away

Pails of cheer have become stains