The Empty Spine

JUN 14, 2025

I find these flagellant melodies 

haunting in my mind 

Like the whips that sing 

as they strike my skin 

and what if one day 

I don’t want to sing anymore 

because it hurts to keep the leather 

What if I stop, what if it stops 

Will they cease 

Those divine melodies 

to whisper away 

Float off into the wind 

Like a feather 

That finds itself pushed into thin air 

If only I could do the same 

And the hurt would stop at 

A stroke of midnight 

A poet’s desire of the witching hour 

But I want to write forever 

Even if my throat is torn 

From the limps and my legs 

Shot to stone 

Just give me my one good hand 

And the arm I wield it with 

My set of eyes 

My heart 

Even if I cannot use my voice; 

And what if I don’t want to 

Will I still be able 

To hear the whispers of the moon 

The sonnets blown like feathers 

In the wind 

—

Knowing that my strength of 

Each escape; pulling at iron bars 

Always above, where my mind should be 

As soon as I hear this Hero cracking 

Somehow breaking through Of every 

Inspired time, like how a lamb muses a lion 

Only they teach truth here 

These violent meetings 

The cycles of life 

Like science would try to care 

But it takes away from life, 

The empty spine that twinges 

The thought of what makes the surgeon sing 

And the priest beg for mercy 

Is the same