Deconstruction

Murder is nipping at my thoughts constantly.
Death has already overtaken me.
Disemboweled me and decapitated me,
disassembled me within the blink of an eye
quietly, with the utmost skill,
so that no one else would notice.

The pieces were put back together with
the gentle hands of a midnight spider
matching each piece with
worn threads,
Elmer’s glue
and cheap tape
while whispering a weak prayer to protect.

That prayer held me together simply,
with just enough room for thought,
but never enough room to break the tight stitches
neatly sewn across my thin lips.

And thus, my creation has ceased to be human.
I have become a creation of material,
rather than the abused skin that was once hugging my
stiff, tiny frame.
I have ceased to be one of emotion,
one that listens to the worldly banshees with open thoughts
one that grips onto reality with clean nails.

It seems a brilliant philosophy,
that of murder.
That which has already conquered me,
the murder only noticeable by blind eyes,
deaf ears
paralyzed hands
the murder that has quietly remade me into a structure of weakness
in the most perfect perspective.