i feel their fevered jags
slit the palmed flesh between my toes,
shrieks of mirrored staccato hitting a
frozen ground like
acid echoes across
the rain-abandoned parking lot
inside my chest; lysed
screams silting down on
smeared lashes, leaving silver-ashed
edges at the bottom of my jaw,
eviscerated hopes sliding off
my tongue and into the scrap
at my feet, silent and unearthly.
-
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the tenth muse 
I thoroughly enjoyed this piece. It reminds me a little of the work of the late Sylvia Plath.
wow. i could ask for no greater compliment. glad you liked it, and thanks for stopping by.
–jsl
wow, really amazing.