philosopher's stone
I can't find the words to say how I feel
Or to say anything any more
So I pick at my arms
Removing fish-food flakes
Of deep red
Brushing the powdered me away
To coat my carpet
At least I am vertical now.
Fingernails now an asset
As I destroy platelet fortresses
And try to ignore the sting
There seems to be droplets everywhere
Small globules congealing
With no obvious origin
Maybe I made too many incisions
Maybe the cuts are doorways
For pain to come in
Not to leave
As a lead weight hangs heavy in my chest
Plumb-line to make me sit up straight
I take my russet powder
And hope this time
It is the philosophers stone
Elusive
To turn my lead into gold
Copyright 1999 by _sPiDerBaBy_
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