Serrated Masochism

I yell to the sky, the thunder is my rhyme

I cry in the dark, the rain is my sorrow

I curse at the wind, the hurricane is my fury

I blind myself with shut eyes, the fog is my guide

I am the anchor without ship, sinking to depths no lung could bear

I am the canker sore brushing at teeth, the raw meat rings as it tears

I am the serrated skin no slice from a knife would dare

I am the experiment incited by masochism

A human flaw regarded as curiosity

A curiosity incited by habit

A habit conceived in hypocrisy

I am the tired hands too heavy for prayer, holding the planchette

I am the recovering addict placing a bet

I am the tattoo on bruised skin

I am the fatty liver inundating in whiskey

I am the poet intimate with self inflicted pain, because that's where true inspiration is...

I am the poor man with too much too give

I am the wealth of the youth too eager to throw it away

I am the pellet of stone surrounded by oceans

I am the masochist, and a survivor, standing in perpetuity with change

…and yet only give license to the one that profits from pain...