Like Your Fist is Grasping Water

Errant heart strings plucked
making offtune noises,
squawking out a dishonest mewl,
trembling shaking
sweatgrip hold on
hold on.

Forced into this,
making the whole thing up
as it goes along.

At times,
thinking to call out
to the god of stolen words,
to ask for a blessing
that will never come.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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