frayed attention

sick desolate strength

relentless apprehension

an oddity that runs the length

of my five foot seven race

coursing in my limbs

through the veins in my face

shining from with in

like a onyx candle

in a dark violet room

illuminating very little

completely failing to soothe

any sort of frustration

the inevitable emotion

my own kind of damnation

made of a potion

that contains nothing but my angel’s tears

and the bloody strings of his hair

the whispers of his fears

and his one eye – so fair