I sit here, screaming, every night
’till tears run dry and chest goes tight.
I sit, slight rocking, in distress
my whole soul suffering in duress
of a body resistant to time and change
and a mind long-poisoned, twisted, strange;
I sit, surrounded by shadows in murk
feeling the demons as they prowl and lurk;
regrets and sins that I’ve carried a decade
that carved in my face the lines of old age.
Rocking, screaming, crying; a soul stretched thin
taught as a bow string that could harness the wind
and fire off a salvo of wailing cries
the sound of a Banshee through the skies;
and my eyes, sewn shut by my crescent lashes
my mouth dry, teeth chattering to gnashes
and hands boring a hole with nail and groove
digging down, deep down, to try to prove
that Death all ready came, He stole in one eve
and all ready claimed my life to receive;—
and tear out my heart, I’ll show you that lifeless organ
a shell, long vacant, that,
if put to the ear,
plays sounds of the ocean.