The Anatomy of Sorrow

My heart is set aflame,
Burning away slowly at the feet of my soul,
In empathy.
The years that are to come and have gone have taken their toll all at once,
In a great strike of the blacksmith’s hammer,
The hammer of Fate herself,
Upon your not yet tempered,
Malleable and uncertain path.
I can feel the shockwaves,
And my eyes cannot escape the devestation of the forests,
The leveled mountains jump up in plains all around me.
Tears leap from my gaze,
Causing me to see,
How the first rivers were born.
I feel the leper’s ache,
Through an intimacy with you,
With your healthy body,
Imprisoning a plagued mind.
My stomach is a pit that shares a kindred spirit with the pauper’s lust,
For enough to suffice,
Enough to fuel the act we call living.
My back is scarred,
Beaten down,
Walked across,
Like the path you tentatively breach,
A hunting party in the midst of a frozen ocean.
My legs give out,
With the weight of the world transferred to you from the slaves of all mankind.
My hands are old and weathered,
Too old for this young body,
From catching the tears of frustration and hopelessness.
I am your voodoo doll:
Every nail that penetrates your intentionally thickened skin,
Reaches deep into my being,
And stabs me where it knows how to hurt.

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