I. utensil

this keyboard
is not a pen.      

it is a hammer
vibrating,
electrocuting
me slowly to death.

II. clock ticks

when did i become so alone?
when did the trials of my mind
leak and weaken my chest,
like some cancer?    

no cure
for a broken heart.
no task,
will satiate
this true loneliness.

i am young
and yet i will weep
for decades
from the loss of you.

i am young,
yet impatiently listen
for death's note,
the freedom, the yearning goodness, of my soul's true home.