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Poetry / Surely Gravity Can Pull Harder If It's Given A Push

Sleeping on a bed of nails,
he lies
awake at night—no motion,
and no emotion as he strains
to slow his heart-rate.

Eating bread crumbs and fish tails,
through the day, he sits, sighs,
and says nothing as he paints a picture
of depravity.

Sleeping on a bed of nails,
he wonders what time it is for over an hour
before bothering to look and realize
he’s three hours late for another disguised dinner-date.
The unknown girl didn’t know how lucky she was.

Finally filling with malcontent,
he looks around for something to destroy,
and sees no one.
Desperately, he looks around for something
     to demolish,
and finds a mirror first.

A hard look ignited the fuse of confusion
     over the lives he took.
It ran up his backbone, slowly toward his brain.
He wandered quietly over to his bed of nails,
and wondered if man was the one
who had created gravity.

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