Sober

My fingers will dig into flesh,

I’ll scream peeling away the rage,

blood will pour out,

staining the carpet.

The cracks will reopen,

my chest will feel cold.

Fury will be my companion,

reeking havoc on those I Love.

Muscles will tighten in the cold,

I’ll rip them from bone,

Every nerve will die.

I’ll walk out in the sun a bag of bones,

cold and long since dead, for them.

In spite of you,

I will Love them.