Release MeIn one firm and gentle hand
she held my heart
while with precision she pricked it
like a voodoo doll.
I grabbed an iron thorn
and pierced deep into my chest
at the point that said Release Me,
but all I got was a gaping wound
that gushed rivers of blood and despair,
and she cried from the pain
of a withered hand.
Water these words with bitter tears of betrayal.
I think I will never love again
and soon will die.
(C) 6/29/03 Tom Brinck