Monday, July 6, 2009

Clutch

Squeezing the meat of my arm
nails dig, knuckles cracking with strain
the flesh breaks, the blood runs
I wrench and squirm, 
but the hold is fast and tight
brutal and laden with pain
The grip has a safety
a comfort that cannot be denied
but it hurts more then it helps
it burns more then it soothes
it mocks me with a brutal contempt
I fight harder, loosen it's grasp
Finally the hold is lost
Finally I am free from all
Finally I am away from all,
alone.

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