Conflicting Wounds (Sonnet #2)
How? I feel such conflict in heart, I think.
Not unlike slicing open my thin skin,
And being mesmerized by flow of ink,
From the sacred place where it once had been.
Then, realizing strength draining away,
Feeling the great clunks of my heart trying,
I attempt to sew myself whole and say,
Next time, I mustn't let myself start bleeding.
I sit and catch my breath, my eyes find you.
A knife in hand, it drips with hot mixed blood
Of desperate self-hate and unplanned jab through
My heart, as is our seeming ritual flash flood.
Yet, sight of you washes 'way my fury.
I'd take any wound if 'twould end your mis'ry.
Not unlike slicing open my thin skin,
And being mesmerized by flow of ink,
From the sacred place where it once had been.
Then, realizing strength draining away,
Feeling the great clunks of my heart trying,
I attempt to sew myself whole and say,
Next time, I mustn't let myself start bleeding.
I sit and catch my breath, my eyes find you.
A knife in hand, it drips with hot mixed blood
Of desperate self-hate and unplanned jab through
My heart, as is our seeming ritual flash flood.
Yet, sight of you washes 'way my fury.
I'd take any wound if 'twould end your mis'ry.
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