stranded man

The stranded man
weeps out of want
and masturbates
out of boredom
as he watches the tides move
in
and away
for he can only pace
to
and fro
and throw stones
into the air
in a futile attempt
to chase
the demons away.

The cherished relics
that linger
are the sickest
sort of beauty.

Their poison
tastes like honey
and so is too easily
taken down
yet does not kill.

They only create
the sensations necessary
to cause a man
to wish
for death.

He would gouge his eyes
if he did not need them to hunt.

He would sever his hands
if he did not need them
to feed.

He would cut off his head
if he could shake loose
the last remnants
of false hope
that he might yet
be saved.

He would cut out
his heart
if that was not
where he lived.