Bite my tongue
Until it bleeds,
These words are of
No use to me.
Designed for pain
That’s all it knows,
Searing through
This poison prose!

The writer fails himself again
A cycle that he cannot break,
A tangled web wove through his pen,
Exposing wounds within it’s wake.
His words working against him
Standing in the grips of distress,
Offering the writer little solace
Spewing forth this toxic mess.
They once were a powerful tool
That provided him with a release,
But now his words betray him as
The writer seeks that sense of peace!

Bite my tongue
Until it bleeds,
These words are not
The ones I need.
Coming coldly
As self doubt grows,
Searing through
This poison prose!

The writer fails himself again
Though it comes as no surprise,
The darkness in the writer’s pen
Can now be seen behind his eyes.
His words now flow unfiltered
Anger burning beneath the surface,
As if their cruel design being dealt,
Was their only dark purpose.
They once were so much more,
But then again, so was the writer.
He used to be a man of passion.
He used to be a fighter!

Bite my tongue,
Until it’s freed,
These words that seek
To plant this seed,
And destroy all
That my heart knows
Through this searing
Poison prose!

The writer fails a final time
Embracing this lonely road,
Where he treads the finest line
That has ever been towed.
His words stand him on the edge
Between madness and peace.
He knows not which way he’ll move
As each verse is released.
They once were a beacon
Guiding him through the darkness.
Would he have dared to take them,
Had he known they’d start this?

Bite my tongue
Til it concedes,
This war is done
It’s waged with me.
The toll is tallied
The scars all show,
Searing through
This poison prose!

Bite my tongue
Until it bleeds,
These words are of
No use to me…

(3/12/09)