The webs that line the ceiling form abstract words
What they mean in sight, I do not know
But somewhere in the back of my mind
Or somewhere in my still, fragile heart
It holds a value, enough so for me to make note of it

All that's good is blasphemy, I could say the same for all that's bad
We know, yet can't comprehend, colors don't exist
These phrases you're reading are fake
Then again, the definition of "real" isn't absolute either
So I might as well spit dribble

The calase's that take up our skin resemble the wrinkles aside our eyes and above our brows
What else can define us?
The cuts, bruises, scars, and mark's tell a story
Eyes as ears, and each individual mind it's own author
The outlook of our peers, what else can define us?

Though these words, these cords aren't caressing my tounge
Aren't pushing against and fleeing my lips
They're still tethered and strapped to me
Tracing back to my core, filthy and abandoned
I'm responsible, consequence being in the line of cob webs
Trapped and strung up in weak silk-string that can't support my weight
Being wrapped in a meaning before my mind wrapped around it
Consuming me before I can digest the thought

Thinking and expressing thought with movement
What else can define us?
Dancing, sweating, crying, breathing.
What are you trying to tell me?
In a loop of devouring cob webs to prove I'm empty,
Only for them to envelop me to prove they have sustenance
The make up of our beings,
What else can define us?

The ceiling that holds the cob webs,
Not only it's burden strong, but nonexistent
As in that a burden represents the time and effort put forth
The measurement of our will,
What else can define us?

It's as simple as it gets, we create a language when we have yet the ability to read
In turn, our essence is our only flaw...
Since we do not exist

There's nothing to define us.


© Marah Schneider