For the Want of Nothing (draft)

I have atrophied in these sheets.

They cling to me,

sweat gathers in sickness

and in health I know nothing but want.

Yet, need lingers in the door

beckons, but does not come forth.

My dreams run rampant like pixies;

they are splashes of imaginary colour ,

no paper can hold them.

Outside the barren tree branches lacked the strength

to hold onto their colourful autumn,

I lack the strength (will) to even manifest a fall,

So, I’ve fallen into a bed of leaves

(which I did not rake)

Please. Decompose this body,

feed the corpse to the worms-

this is the only way I know to celebrate a harvest.


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