Sculptor

I'm sick of the secrets
I keep tucked away
Within my liver and lungs
At the end of each day.

Soon my body
Will begin to talk back.

Songs full of secrets
Will spill from the cracks.

My apologies.
I fear
I'm just as hollow as well.

I sing doxologies,
But I'll appear
To follow all hell

Once my liver and lungs
Begin to talk back

Once they're sick
Of the secrets
Spilling from the cracks

For I knew
Smoke and water
Will take the form
Of its vessel

But little did I know
Both will leak
When I wrestle
My Sculptor.