Picking Away

longing to peck away

to write out of this box

rising each day only to drown

each dawn brings new sorrows

still looking for possibilities

subconscious has taken hold

warm and wet, thick, down a cheek

not tears but blood

picking rather than pecking

parts fall away like lint

inside the screams are deafening

writing seems impossible and the only possibility

outside wounds cleaned

pecking must persist

or picking will consume

all content within

and death will come

before any living

perhaps a swan song

the last triumphant blast

alerting those left

to to live and not just be

for death will come

let my words be the comfort

even just one, heed and heal

so rest may, at last, be mine

content with myself

and the content that remains