Poem #10 Sweet Nothing

Sweet Nothing

Unpick his bones from your teeth
What’s left of him- nothing.
You sucked the marrow from his bones
Like immortality lied within them,
And stole his hands
As if they would help you
On your fame-bent pipe dream.
Without love,
The artist has no hands.

Love was a song
But the music is gone;
A lifeless tune, meaningless lyrics,
The dream is dead
And his hopes in shreds.
The space between
Victim and survivor
Is filled with him
As a therapist pulls trauma from his mouth
Like rope from the ocean
And the artist bleeds onto his page
To find he despises his own work.
Nothing comes of everything he does,
No matter how hard he tries
The artist creates
But it is a sweet nothing.