Entropy

I address my own distress
underneath my frosty breath

hairs on end; fingers red
chills run down my broken back
    and when i find
    where sorrow lies

    my limbs will stay despondent,
    broken,
    cold,
   and
dry.

[twisted figurines awry]

    Backwards
        bones,
     and frozen
           stones;
                joint-molasses
                slow machines.

I combine
    and I refine
        the qualities that disrepair me.
  Calm, reposed[a boiling storm],
  I dwindle through my self-defeat.

So much to my dismay,
my demons all recede.

An engine stoked too long ago
    that begs to be all but unleashed.





  I revel in a battle fought,
  a skirmish won,
  and purpose lost;
but
  text
       will
            never
                  stress (enough):


       I
       RE-
       MAIN!
     
       











       [distraught]