This beautiful plea knows the bounds 

of this page.

The blood that you gave me

that flows

Through my suffocated skin,

Is like waterfalls

through a poisoned pool.

Black and blue

and dead all over.

I am writing and painting

pictures and poems for you to see.

Come and take a walk

through my pathetic exhibition

before it is overcome by rot.

Help me

I cry, for the seventh time over

Help me.

Help me.

I am drowning in a droughted lake

crying in a windless sea

You hear me,

I know.

but you are smiling and I am not.

And who might trade a smile for a frown?

You whisper me words of encouragement

and I dance myself to my timely death. 

Like this window,

your heart is glass.

It should break – 

but it does not.

It should shatter – 

but it does not.

I punch and I pound,

trying to impress,

and trying to escape.

My knuckles bleed and my fingers break but

still you smile

looking ever so much like me.

This beautiful plea knows the bounds

of this page.