I can smell the stench of sorrow
knocking on an invisible door
that is the depths of my heart.
Its arms are open wide, inviting
but as they touch my skin
they're cold, numbing;
taking away the warmth,
the breath of the sun
that had nurtured all else
except perhaps the skull
of God that had remained
hidden, forbidden.
I can feel the embrace of sorrow,
can feel its paralyzing grip
the clutches of the nails
never wanting to let go.
They drill deep down inside me
inside my hollow inner self
that I have kept away
from judging, troubling stares
but sorrow, oh sorrow,
the pain and the stench,
the murderous embrace,
must stop. For I,
by you, need to be let go.
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