disjointed symmetry

sometimes more often than not
i warrant in the delicacy of the insignificant
of bliss caked in chores
cocooned in the dissociation of whores

i romanticise the curvature of my joints
each bend a squeak
each pose a question
i don't know myself
do they even know me
do they see my disjointed as symmetrical
do they see what i can see

do they see me as anything at all?
or a romanticisation of themselves
each bend a soliloquy
a stretch of what's free

have they given up before as early as me?
do they crave desperation for true silence
a personification of tranquility
or a satisfiable hum

i feel each individual bone
i crave each one
as if it were a baby crying
yearning for something more than vocational