made by human hands/from elements of the ground/and from afar/silver gold and star/burning without memory/or clear trajectory/in a ritual of prayer/and smoke-filled arena air/the only thing that shines forth/the peril and glory/an endlessly rewritten story/of their own sudden demise

A tongue that twists to whisper words
lips that kiss me with a verse
a wish or curse?

A man that stands no chance
Her stanza's propaganda
A mantra and a answer

She sows her words in rows
The poet knows her prose
And so it grows and grows

A cry for help is a cause for alarm.
Self harm carves tales in pale arms.
Scars form like lines scored in old boards
and tree bark, graffiti of hearts broke in the park.
tattoos use ink. A penknife will ooze blood into sinks.

Introspection is a writhing vivisection.
cutting deep, fists clench and twist
bending ribs with wrenching wrists.
Rending bars apart the cradle that cribs the heart

that drums a beat like bells that rung your death knell
from the first to last breath your lungs have expelled.
A tongue to tell and eyes to see, a mind to be,
a heart to feel.
Vivid Vivisection,
It hurts to heal.