I'm twisted,
I'm backwards ,
I'm all wound up,

Turmoil plucks my heart strings creating a symphony of confusion,
Their shriek is shrill and penetrates all levels of my consciousness

It burns,
a blazing fire reborn from the ashes of a left over pain that had been long forgotten,
Receptors singed but still quite intact
Am I a puzzle or a teacup, shattered on the floor

Does grinding down graphite dull down the pain?