My empty heart o'erflows with grief,
My tired eyes snap awake,
My paralysed hands refuse to cease
To fume and froth and shake.

A smile is stuck across my lips
My eyes are crinkled red,
A sea of unsung doubts dances
Upon a beaten head.

Creepers of self-abuse clamber
Atop my numb forearm,
Entire worlds of seething ember
Around my window form.

A fan slings forth little insults,
A clock lashes wee lies,
Surrounded by a happy mask
Do I on my knee cry.

And pasts unknown take birth again
As tear turns into hail,
My eyes are red, and red my wrist
Draws blood from buried grave.

Do I let metal taste metallic?
Do I let noose grip death?
Do I take action save to bathe
The page in wistful breath?

Perhaps it is more prudent to
Create a morbid poem,
Than let my wants dictate me, and
Set fire to my home.

For I am not alone, O lord!
To give my soul a shove;
My heart can break the cage of bone
But ne'er the cage of love.

As long as people hold me close,
As long as people bond;
The only way for me to die
Is write a deathly song.

A song that lets me visit Him
And land, at will, again
Back in my world, and die in an
Endless poetic refrain.

It is a burden I can't give up
A habit I can't ignore,
For love I must, and hold my love
Against my throbbing score.

A beating heart that's stung and lost,
But knows a little thing-
No poison save a little poem
Blissful respite can bring.