For The Cutter Poem by r james sterzinger

the wrists of pleasure
opening
draining what's left of me
my life
gone
my love
gone
my muse
gone
me
gone
winter has indeed set in.

cold dark desperate
me.

this morning my muse
came to me in a dream
she cried 'its all over
its all over! '
this crying jag
all over me
and
i wasn't worthy
i knew it like
a communicant
stuck in the pew knows it
down to the marrow
down to the bones
down to the soul.

love gone
muse gone
it's all gone.

now it is indeed winter
my soul
gone
all that i feel
is this cold
this unrelenting cold
and the terror coming
through the walls.

there too is this feeling
'i'm not going to make it'
it is true
irreversable
i hear the death train...
'blow your damned whistle,
here i am, come get me
i'll bet the gamble,
take the risk
bargain with god
face to face! '

let's end this...