By Jan Martin Smith
I am bleeding in my soul
My heart is stained and tired, my heart is old
It does not matter if I trust my lover
It matters if I trust myself
To know the difference
Between hemlock and honey
My eyes too blinded by themselves
Eyes have always opened souls
But now their doors are closed
My arms are tingling
Are burning like cinders of coal
I know not how to stop the torture
As I am the author
And I slide down the wet leaves whose moisture
Are the tears from my heart that
Is really the blood of my life
And now that my life is close to done
I am looking at a life of regret and uncertainty
And I know that I have lived with a sickness
Much worse that has paralyzed my heart
In my soul for more years than I have left to live
I am bitter now, angry and scared
Why did my life turn this way?
How do I stop hating myself
For my weakness and my blind eyes
For the blood pouring from my soul
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