Deadweight

I have a glove full of pointless bones and veins
Sucking the blood from my heart like leaches
Containing nothing but weight
I am heavily walking left again

My complaint stems from the miscalculations of assembly gone wrong
Five shovels dig their way into my skin as a symbol of rejection
Poor attempts to even me out consist of asking stubborn men
To believe in something they doubt
A bona-fide affliction of necessity

Open my head and examine the threads connecting fingers to the brain
A simple seed planted in me grew into an interposing tree
The world has been overlooking obvious signs of informality
Embrace the light of those speaking without a mouth full of twisted tongues

Weaved and complexes, ridges like waterways spill
Where the ocean meets the shore of my wrist
I alleviate the tempting, so tempting urge to unfasten
This is not a temporary affair, I am prepared to be more helpless