Distilled

Distilled, feeling spilled out over floors of granite tile

Humane apparitions hold my hand like I'm a child

Explaining my miscarriage of conviction

With tranquilizing diction and

I feel killed again, disparaged by the contradictions

The apparitions say how needless the infliction is

Say if I could see, I'd see how this affliction is

My own design, see how blind I am

You'll find me prostrate on the granite floors

Because I was born into a war

I hate the deity that I adore

I have a propensity towards ignoring

My shuttering assumptions because

They impair my ability to function

But they go on shuttering, faint flashes of light

Stuttering inside my chest, and somehow

They sustain this wretched tower of flesh and bone

That's forced to lean on the shoulder of atonement

Even though the flying stones dent

The armor that I fashioned with a weak hand

I'll try to stand on the chilled tiles

I will because I have to, if I don't I'm just a statue

That was pushed over by the apparitions' statutes, marooned

On an arctic island that will be my tomb

If I don't make my legs work soon

I know the world has assembled platoons against me and

My intense pleas may very well be

Unreceived by any higher power than the ceiling

Over this granite bed

If the ceiling is only as high as they go

Then God only knows why I show these colors

Why it always hovers, this feeling that I'm starting to discern

Is past the point of no return

I will always yearn for something I can't see, probability of my fallacy

Will never be enough for me

Cold feet on the granite tile, I've been standing for a while

But my knees keep shaking, as apparitions' hands

Come breaking down my castles in the sand

Maybe I am stranded after all, existing quietly in my own mind

While the world around me calls my fouls and blasphemes and scowls at me

From behind dark sunglasses so I'll never see

That it's stranded, too

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