It hurts like my own breath
This masterpiece created
Know I can’t contain it
Can’t restrain those who would wish to break it
Shaken
I can’t help but my own thoughts
A helpless sliver on a clock
Its fate is locked
Into a dance upon a jagged rock
Fresh shock
Only a speck of time before on the red field emerges
Nothing can discourage
These new thoughts I’m less than worthless
Can I purge this?
Can I destroy it?
Do I even have a choice?
This work of art,
This radiant angel of death without a voice
No, I can’t rejoice
In the destruction of a thing so dear
But to know the fear
Of imminent corruption,
Oh so near, so clear
I am torn beneath the burden
Of impossible decision
I’m the focus of adulation
I’m the subject of derision
I can’t take it
Endless foresight, untold vision
Indecision
Can I bear to tear apart my soul?
To let the broken pieces roll
Like tears
Across my face
Into a blue and bottomless bowl?
Or can I stand to know the pain,
The suffering,
The endless rain
Of torment on the direct victims
Of that produced by my own brain?
I hate myself
For thoughtless deeds
For final doomed discoveries
My punctured heart, oh how it bleeds
Upon my conscience
All I need
Is to be seen not simply for
My last impossible decision.