art mental

thoughts, the
words the
mind
scratches from
its flesh, its flesh
flogged
as
feelings, skins
peeling back
revealing
the diction of
desires and desires
are lairs
for liars
to twist truth
into being,
bleeding
from a loneliness
so desperate we
invent words
to tie us to
each
other
in a
mutual
punitive
passion.

these are
the ways of
thoughts, how
we each
interpret these
scars scraped
from the fleshed
out mind, hollowed
out from marrow
emotions these
conceits and
pretenses pretend
to be, to be
honest
or
ulterior, even
as we fail
to understand
each
other or our
selves.

and
here we are,
at this
border
of each
other, not
speaking
a common
tongue, so
othered
we are in the
ways we
taught our
selves to speak
within and
without, without
considering
what we do
when we paint
our mental
picture we
invent
for our self's
world, onto
the blank
canvas of life
that every
one
else lives
with us.

and still,
we hope we
will
find those
with which we
can blur the
lines sensibly, whose
colors
we can blend
with, bend
to our will
as they are
willing.

thinking
as art, as
an interpretative
representation
of feeling,
a game
we play
together, often
this
one-sided
competition,
winners losers
and i, spectator
of my own
dimishing
capacity
to participate.

still, i
scratch
this flesh
of mine, mindful
of words
giving form to
thoughts, my
art of mental
hemmorage,
homage
to giving up my
life for life
lived within
this
loneliest lexicon
seeking connection.