Frustration
Whips me with a cat o nine tails.
Ripping chunks off my
Flesh.

I persist in the pain
Of never good enough
Or, why did I try.

Fear in a fever,
Blood cascading down my soul
Like warm milk.

There is comfort in the fire
Until you know you're getting
Burnt.

I reopen the old wounds of
The pain of an impotent nothings
Life
Oozing corpulent infection throbs
In bursts.

Visceral viscera
Cascades over my failures

My personal cartography.

Charted on scars
And bruises,
Healed broken bones.
A lifetime of self hate.

I can't live.

I can only
Offer a blood sacrifice in penance
To every self conscious fear.
Every hesitation
And savage self evaluation.

Nothing I've done is good
So, burn it all, won't you?
Mix these words and this body in the charred remains of the fire.

Return to dust
And silence.