Anesthetize my heart for the fractured ruins bear
upon the searing surface the remnants of a tear
which sever all the ties that bind my love to soul
and now I live my life unloved, I live my life unwhole.

Now hand the scalpel, sir, incise a gaping wound
to match the dark demeanor of this black rose which has bloomed.
No, do not stop the bleeding, let the sordid droplets spread
forth from the deep ravine, watch them fade to crimson red.

Leave it's ground impure as the story of my faith
grows forever weaker in this soul dissenting wake
of refuge and retreat into my unforgiving past:
the tale of a weary soul relentlessly harassed.

Now mend, dear sir, the fragments of my sin,
be all the king's horses and all the king's men.
Torture my salvation, kill my one remaining dream,
let my burning heart consume, an evil to redeem.

Inebriated Poet