She, the drum
that keeps my heart beating
She, the guitar
that keeps my heart on a string
She, the sad tune
of my soul's violin
She, the voice
when I could not sing
She, the lullaby that
drives me to sleep
She, the reason
that I weep
She, the page that
I read then re-read
She, the knife by
which I bleed
She, the wind that
chases my wishes away
She, the beads by
which I fervently pray
She, the screaming in
my moments' silence
She, the saint of a
hopeless perseverance
She, the foul in my
needed clarity
She, the death of
my sensibility
She, the tears of
my shattered joy
She, the bully and
I the beaten boy
She, the whisper to
my fake jovial loudness
She, the exclamation
of a fatal weakness
She, the song that keeps
my heart breaking
She, my reality that
I keep on reliving
She, the meaning of
my life's fragments
She, the anger of a void
temperament
She, the wisdom to
a fool's shame
She, the nectar to
my most bitter pain
