...

may I sing you a woe,
artfully crafted,
lyrical,
set to the perfect beat,
of a life that never should-can-will be ?

a song for mine,
a part of me,
that can never be,
but in imagination,
my man-mind-child ?

with words, that
are deeper than the slits,
on my wrists ?,
with words, that
sting deeper than the welts,
on my back ?

will you listen ?
you, that is a part of me ?
will you listen ?
you, that will never be ?
my man-mind-child ?

believe that I love ?
that which can never be ?
that which will never be ?
that which cannot be imagined ?
that which is forever feared-felt-missed ?

my man-mind-child ?