Good God,
Writhing heart,
I feel the pinch in my dominant hand.
Naught can stop these stubby knobs from growing cold,
Freezing from joint to tip.
Even I can only witness,
And blow hard as I can-
Even elation, the fleeting warmth,
Cannot stay by my side.
It flits about the flesh,
Breathing life here and there,
But every time the piece revives,
A minutes time will go by,
Before it dies all over again.
What a terrible, terrible loss,
I've made for me to bear-
And yet as I fail to,
I cut it off,
Removing the tumor at the root.
Oh yowl and howl loudly I do,
At every problem I create,
Thinking I'd enjoy the pain,
And yet I still cannot.