• An Icy Hand To The Heart
    The tension grips my throat, heart racing and rising temperate.
    I rush to get away in desperation, and embrace the Outside world.
    The cold night hits me heavily, flinging myself to the ground.

    Biting lip and dust, blood drools from eyes and wounds.
    Some are too old and bleed-not, only rot and corrode further.
    Heavy shoulders marry a weakend body, hollowed-out from years of hurt.
    The night nurses thy sickend soul, befouling the body,
    Shaking the dog like a bloody rag of a mutt.

    The sharp dagger that turns inisde the hollow earth,
    Twists the gentle fabrics of the soul.
    Tears and sobs come htiher forth, quietened for secrecy,
    Rejected at first for dishonour and worthlessness.

    A curtain covers the disgrace and is soiled in compassion,
    People pass by trying to hide their slight concern.

    Now I sit alone on my bed, playing dare with a loaded gun.