I turn again to brittle words
Which, caustic, stop my bleeding hurt
And slither deep into my bones
And break off bits of syllables
They carry away the cold and dark
Leaving warmth and fleshy heart

My bloodbeat slows and sighs
The sorrow, tickling, leaves my eyes
I stare un-anchored at the depths
The void within me, sadness kept
Which grows and eats voraciously
The joy I kept so jealously
Mirage-like, wavers slow.

I hung my self again tonight
I broke the bones which petrified
And dirtied me; I hung old self and now I see
The loveliness of what is left;
Not criminal, or harsh intent
Not darkness, or the void I kept
But joy;
joy instead.