Solitude

The dark
gathering, biding, lurking
waiting for a time to get me
get me all alone.

The vision I keep having
of myself attacking
those I love, those I treasure
and even my own self.

The fingers I keep losing
the blood I keep tasting
arising in the morning
a taste of steel rest in my memory.

Can you feel it?
the hot blood streaming down your body?
feel it cool, it congeal,
leaving traces of desperate wanting.

Stab in the heart, why aren't I dead?
The pain, like an ember,
sizzles and sears my soul
Again I ask, Why aren't I dead?!

-Olsen w. Potter-