Shame

It itches like a thousand spiders

Under skin on fire-

Running in haste and in vain.

Its heavy enough, though silent

Unseen. The dark mass of the world.

Some are born free from its grubby grasp

And wallow in its absence.

Lucky sons.

But we were born in its dying core

And set it alight again.

Its beat withers but never fades

 at times breaking out in impromptu carnival.

The skull is its only world.

It tarnishes everything that its spies

From just there, behind the eyes.

Be thankful it’s a myopic, and self obsessed.

That there is some fleeting peace.

 its iron braces keep you in your seat

And prevent your wings

 In glory

To unfurl and gleam.

You remain the stained convict

Under the glossy Koch.

Battered. A Spanish galleon

Submerged under seas

Lit by ghoulish light

that breaks

Momentarily

The murk.

Undying

Shame

My friend (I suppose)

My immortal guard.