Poem - Catharsis

your sorrows wait to come

full circle in me.

My surrogate guns

will claim you

but I'll be cast off,

useless shell of mercy,

my head choked to death

by delusions of you.

Man,

I shall grasp the rose

in your name,

fervently bleeding,

diseased with beauty

and shame,

for my wonder

is chained

by seed

to soil.