Eclipse

Don’t pick at my dreams
You have no breath
To waste on pretending
Your mouth opens.
You can squeeze out the tar
From the fire burning at your heels,
See if I remove the clamp
And play it any different.
It would still cave in on the wicked
Whipping all slum
Right back into shape
Once it fell slack of love.
The pain subsides at the soil,
Mixed with sweat
Upon your chest
You suffocated.
So don’t point the callous
From your decaying hand
Spouting my recovery as shame
And my coping as morbid.
Though I can’t repair what you have done
Or let go of that lovely glimpse,  
The dead is gone
And my strength defies a corpse.
Grow initiative as done before
To lose the white knuckles
And let the slivers settle;
I already know how to pick for blood.