Sorrow

What is it that words say?

I sit in this room of stilled dreams
As the sounds of the world float in
And split hissing tongue of sorrow
Wraps me in her embrace.

What is it that the words tell?

My mind warps, violently repelled
From that sharp seductive time
Like some mollycoddled wound
That I will not let heal.

What is it that wants to be heard?

A vortex of emotions that suck
Around and round and round
A hunter that wants not to kill
But to enjoy the fear in the eyes

What is it that wants to be spoken?

Silky smooth shiny sharp sounds
A split scimitar of surssurations
Slouched, slimy, slobbering sloth
Slowly sucking the soul's shadow

Sorrow.

The deafening sound of my silence
The cold wind of my warmth
The paradox of my being.