Final Edit: Argil

[bloated_corpse]

Plasticity 
 
A moment becomes damp and gray  
between my fingers. My hands begin 
to mold a bench's color, and words 
are sometimes carved or added if 
it all fits a metaphor, or a shady sculptor 
sculpts for me.

This poem is really deep. I don't really understand some of it. But the bits I do understand are really meaningful and deep. Its like about a carpenter building a bench, but he is sad because it reminds him of the bench he once sat on with his girlfriend when he was a kid. And they probably carved their names into it with a hart around their names. And now this bench he is making now is probably in memoriam of a dead granddad or someone else and it reminds the carpenter his own girlfriend is probably dead too. Its also a bit like a metaphor aswell, about how the mind is like a bench where memories and thoughts sit.
#thanks@alexorande