No titles left
They fell like stars
Breaking open jars
Of ancient scars
Each spark rising
Past the bars
Of every name
I ever wore
I’m titled all out
The words I used
Turned into birds
With burning wings
Flying through
Forgotten things
Dropping feathers
Made of rings
That never fit
My hands before
I wrote each wound
In liquid clocks
Time dripping down
In molten blocks
Each tick a knock
On doors of smoke
That open only
When I choke
The past back
Into metaphor
Now I write
With no design
The lines arrive
Like serpents fine
Twisting through
A silver spine
Glowing symbols
That align
Only when
I stop the war
Inside my mind
And let them pour
I’m titled all out
The truth steps in
With mirrored skin
Reflecting worlds
I’ve never been
Speaking in
A phantom din
That feels like loss
And sounds like win
And pulls me
Through another door
Title me out any day
No hold backs
I can say anything
Anyway
Any how
And the ink keeps shifting shape
Turns to wolves
That guard my cape
Turns to moons
That bend and scrape
Turns to storms
That split the drape
Between the real
And what I draw
I’m titled all out
And still I rise
A myth rebuilt
From shattered skies
A voice that walks
Without disguise
A flame that learns
Its own surprise
Each time it burns
A truer law