The unbitten tongue
Goes lashing out
A tome of postponed 
Angst and rage
And things to say
Things we need to fix
The tears I cry
Not from my eyes
But spidery black lines
Across a yellow page

And death by poetry
Quietly absolves
And swallows me

All my passion
Compressed into a verse
Allowed to shine
In wettest ink
And pleasing rhyme
Each supple branch I bend 
And turn it into paper
Printed with the shrugs
And the kisses
I should plant 

And death by poetry
Quells my aching
Yet somehow numbs me

All these lines I spin
Of tiny irritations
Crushing disappointments
Subtle sadnesses
The glowing praise
And crawling apologies
Things that choke
And things that sing
And all that’s broken
Is so neatly written

A death by poetry
Quells all tension
As it slowly poisons me…