Thrush - Threadbare

“Here they come; here they come” I screamed at the top of my lungs, as I stood in the middle of a stage. Wilting torso; disfigured arms. For an audience glaring with captivating eyes. “Come one; come all.” Feast your pupils on this trembling skeleton; a collection of borrowed qualms. Given from the crippled palms of those who held a creaky and murky lantern over the unsteady voice hidden within the flesh worn all this time while forgetting. A fool's crown pressed into my cranium. With irony for the mockery. And there I went headfirst towards the bottom. Sitting impatiently in disbelief as I grabbed them by their jowls. Throwing them as far into the dirt as far as possible, one by one without regret; or a drop of remorse.