My heart is not here.
It is elsewhere.
I only tend to this cage,
awaiting its return.

I wake at night
and, peering into the dark,
stare longingly at shadows.
Here the world is still,
and yet within me
a torrent.

I live my life,
but something is clasping at my throat.
Forceful, eager,
it is there right now.
I try to keep it down,
I bite my tongue and drown it
with the usual poisons,
but this only urges it.
It fights me;
I only contain it.
Each bout spurs renewed vigour.

It is there at my throat,
waiting for me to scream.