the end

The door
isn’t open
I ‘ve nothing to hide

because closed quiet doors
are for knocking down
will you
see your footprints
taste the blood
flowing from my body

or your eyes
caress the taut rope
that exercises a tough grip
on your vocal cords
when it is me
that has hanged

Can you cry out
when all that is left
is a whisper
which does not beckon
loving words of Truth?

Can you stem the tide
that washes your clean feet
as it flows
and flows from my body
unto yours

Do these senses of yours
afford you comprehension

Do your hands
stop trembling
and imagination
stop playing
horrific games
with your heart-beat erratic

Do you
with the frenzied hands
of agony
wrench open the door
and see me

but with cold eyes
and mouth
over the flame
of an invisible knife

burning myself
with the cold steel
in my heart

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