Do you hear my heart cry in the midnight hour?
Take a razor to my scalp,
Remove the bone,
And pick through the crevices.
As it crumbles around you like a forgotten city
And encases you,
You will feel the warm electricity as it pulsates through your body.
Only then will your mind tell the tale of a foreboding, sleepless journey.
Icicles will drip from the caverns of your bloody heart.
When the numbness rushes over the palms of your hands,
Will you still stop this paper from becoming sodden with my guilt ridden soul?
Once your hands have become one with mine,
And you see the rage in my mind.
Your tears will become as stone,
Never again flowing down this dry river bed
Next time you speak,
Pray, tell me, have you felt this old soul’s heartache?