the words
are
singing
loudly
yet
incoherent

the ice cold
metal
of a straight
razor, honed
to a near
monomolecular
edge
skipping across
goosepimpled
flesh
the rhythmic slap
scratch
of a brush
on canvas
the scratching
of graphite
the cutting
of flesh

i cannot see past
my self contained
torments
to decipher
the intent
today

today
i am just
a trail
of cicada husks
leading
into
a dark
haunted
forest
where fairy tale
nightmares
are harvested

a soulblister
on
your cardial
nerve

the answer to
a question
no one asked

a man made dam
holding back
the damnation
choking on the
words
he longed to say.