Reduced To Teeth

Behind a mask, a man can bask only For so long before being exposed To the sun The moon is up, a whisper of "'Till death do you wrong" Patients bother a patient doctor Plastics itch, and bandages the Aftermath won't add up to this. The fever breaks It would take a masochist To live like this I buried my wife today Restitution for my sanity Chasing demons dressed like me Their eyes are not like mine Ignorance is divine Instincts are reduced to teeth That bite the hand that feeds