Broken Open

Unsent

Well

(4-13-03)

Starvation
Far too slow.
The knife,
Too precise.
I resort to
Primal means.
I claw and bite
That which I detest.
The pain brings
Relief
And then
Just pain.
The purity,
Undeniable.
Reality.
It takes
Everything I have
Not to claw my face.
These are my
Private wounds.
Below the collar,
Above the sleeves.
So much like
Home.
My jugular pulses,
Frightened rabbit,
Just beneath
Fingertips
So full of purpose.
I am not well.
I do not feel
Well at all.
Tears unbidden,
Come with
No permission.
I try to
Cut them off.
No avail,
No avail.
All the dreams
I chose to lose....
Watch them fail,
Watch them fail.
Across my eyes
Draw the veil,
Draw the veil.