The anatomy of sorrow.

My heart is set aflame,
Burning away slowly at the feet of my soul.
The years that are to come and have gone have taken their toll all at once,
In a great strike of the blacksmith's hammer,
The hammer of Fate herself,
Upon a not yet tempered,
Malleable and uncertain path.
I can feel the shockwaves,
And my eyes cannot escape the devastation of letters,
Of those sharp sentences that jump up in plains all around me.
Tears leap from my gaze,
Causing me to see how more scars are born.
I feel the leper's ache,
Through an intimacy with a healthy mind imprisoning a plagued heart.
My stomach is a pit that shares a kindred spirit with the pauper's lust,
For enough to suffice,
Enough to fuel the act we call living.
My back is scarred, though.
Is beaten down,
Walked across,
Like the path you tentatively breach.
My legs give out,
With the weight of the world transferred to me from the slaves of all mankind
Since the begging of time.
My hands and eyes are old and weathered,
Too old for this young body,
From catching the tears of frustration and hopelessness.
I am your voodoo doll:
Every word that exits your intentionally thickened lips penetrates my skin,
Reaches deep into my being,
And stabs me where it knows how to hurt.

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