poem i couldnt write

there is pain so great

it cant be written

or sung

there are poems

that should never

grow tongues

great pain when fresh

writes no poems

it knows only

contorted faces

acid tears

ugly howls

and silence.

i would have

Made myself

Silent and

softened these

features forever

Were it not for

Those innocent eyes

which accomplished

what religions

and women

failed to do

because if i open

that drawer

and end this pain

with one pull

what would they do

but starve

and go mad

with questions

not to be answered?

their innocent wide

Moist eyes

like little worlds

exerting gravitational pull

enough

to keep me

bound to this

howling rock

for God knows

how long