March 27, 2006

• Another poetic outburst

  

  
  

  Why do you always drink from the

  
  

  well of my tears?

  
  

  Is not the rain enough to

  
  

  satiate your appetite for my

  
  

  sadness, or slake your

  
  

  thirst for my

  
  

  mourning?

  
  

  What brings you ever back to

  
  

  my eyes, to dip your

  
  

  hand like a cool dagger into

  
  

  my heart and cup a

  
  

  mouthful of my soul’s

  
  

  salt in your palm?

  
  

  Is it that salt that

  
  

  feeds your addiction to

  
  

  my sorry fate, my

  
  

  heart’s sweat born of

  
  

  the effort expended in

  
  

  getting past your memory,

  
  

  of digging a hole in my

  
  

  soul deep enough to bury and

  
  

  forget you in?

  
  

  Do you find pleasure in

  
  

  making me weep, do you hear

  
  

  music in my sighs and

  
  

  cries in the night, the

  
  

  serenade I sing to my

  
  

  pillow until all my

  
  

  breath is gone and I

  
  

  drown in what I have

  
  

  left to live off of?

  
  

  If it is my salt you

  
  

  want, let me die and

  
  

  bury me deep in stone and dirt.

  
  

  Plant me as a seed to

  
  

  grow and take root in the

  
  

  earth like a sad

  
  

  memory, and you

  
  

  can sweat and

  
  

  cry, ripping my

  
  

  flesh out of the

  
  

  world to feed your

  
  

  craving for my heart.

  • 12:37 am
  • 7 Comments