The Door or the Window?
I have opened the door on a storm front, but
Its thickness weights my soul into the ground.
It could grind me to dust, burn me to cinders,
As if to eat me alive if I take my eyes off of it.
But in my weakness, it is to my fight or flight.
Tis not choice, it is feint by unsteady means.
And I have to ratchet the screw, little by little.
Drive it home bit by bit, and fear of aftermath.
What of me when the threads are bored out?
To strip me down to bare bones is no option!
Yet here we sit, and I begin my slow collapse.
You beg to comfort but drive me in too deep.
What of an outside world, tell me if forbidden!
What too of this frenzy? You pull me into you
As to bore into me and offer to spare, but no.
To destroy me slowly, or to deconstruct me, I;
I used to know an answer, worse; to question.
What's left to salve a sorrow, meant to keep?
And I could scream, but none to hear but you.
It was a gentle trap, held with no grain of salt.
Now the vice spins closed upon my shudder.
Too much of you within to do without, to die.
And all is already lost, so to be still and weep.
Close, I feel it coming, love. I die last, for you.