My Whole Self

I hear the cracking of
that glass petal
that breaks past all
repair.

I see those pale
faces reflected in
that dark glassy lake,
solemnly watching.

I feel the soft, unyielding bind
of satin cloth that cuts
deeply into my wrists,
staining red on red.

I taste that bitterness
of a fruit gone rotten
yet forced to swallow in helpless
regret.

I smell the stench
of a dying hope,
yearning to revive agony,
forgoing cursed release in oblivion.

08 june 2006