The form

image by MichaelShapcott

The thick and dense
Of Crippled things
I aid my floors
and spin my lens
I wipe the troubles
From my side, i ease the tens
i often hide
And how i creep
at corners dim
To Sacrifice
the light within
You grow
I burn
I pine for thee
My wounded soul
The aching me
And how a heart
Bleeds a thousand stones
And yet i stand
A throne alone