To think of her leaving
is to look into the face of madness
to beg it enter through my eyes
and play its savage purpose against
the confines of my skull
To make the attempt to
stretch my mouth around the razored
putrid words is
an exercise in weird masochism
the pain so foreign and yet so inevitably
mine
I cannot, it seems, do this
as long as it needs be done
my strength wanes with my patience
for the violence laying waste
to my head
and still the most vile fear
is that it could yet be worse
(c) David McIntire