Steady Nerves

It’s really quite tragic

How I watch pathetic,

With my twitching wrists:

The wistful heretic.

It’s really quite amusing

Breathing without breathing,

With my itching wrists:

Hysteria and grieving.

They’re beautifully sombre:

The Fibonacci numbers:

With my numbing fists,

Splintering timber.

They’re intricately uniform,

All but the paper unicorn.

With my bleeding fists:

A crimson horn.

Dancing on the wind by the spider’s thread-

Out in the open, a rigid neck;

Solitary and to their wits confined,

Out in the open,

Where society is blind.