Watch me bend and watch me break,
But do not lay hands down to mend me.
Do not call my name in the dark,
And do not seek me out at dawn.

I am the lost,
...and may I never be found.
I am the downtrodden,
...and may I never gain strength.
I am the unloved,
...and may it always be that way.

For it is with my eyes that stories are told
--With my hands; simply transcribed.
My legs traverse through the landscape like tired tendrils wavering.
Pausing only at the occasional surge that would pass on through me.

I am the wispy wanderer passing through these shattered layers.
I am the court stenographer keeping track of all the failures.
I am every bit of every passerby man and woman,
Searching for meaning before decisively damning it away.

I document the ugly in your heart,
Mix it with mine,
And code and compile it all behind the wall of my clenched devil's grin.

So,
With furrowed brows
With scrunched noses
With beating chests
With grinding teeth
With fists shut tight
With hearts closed off for the last and final time you swear it
Live through your pain.
Baby, do it big.
Because it isn't the fizzling frustrations that catch my eye,
But those thermonuclear detonations of internal turmoil that do it.

So burn.
Ignite.
And when your wings fall apart as ash,
Maybe you'll be able to walk around with the rest of us.