Trestle Ink

I fear the me—the me in you; and God to soul—the soul of
gods; and fathom pain—the pain of us: a need to feel: a need
To trust; but hurt to mind—the mind of hurt: a need to pierce—
A mirror fierce; and why pretend—and feign respect: a sullen

Heart: a sore affect; and bleeding fleece—the fleece of blood:
A sheep astray: the deepest grudge; and who to fought—a
Heartless world; and thus a thought—a mental hurl; and try
To climb—a fated tree; and try to surf—the likes of me; and

Sea to soul—a near to drown; and flight to earth—a vacant
Town; and forest pain—a plural dance; and hard to claim—a
Subtle glance; and lance to heart—a fear of life; and soul to
Mind—a bleeding night; and what to give—a pail of hurt: a box
Of tricks: a fist of dirt; and evermore—a sour look: a pulse for
Death—a bait and hook.