There is a weight on my heart so great that it feels as if it could tear itself from my chest, rip through lungs, liver, intestines on its way to the underground There is a pain in my heart so great that it feels like a heart attack as if my own flesh were threatening my life There was a notion in my head that I had no heart but the bitterness in my mouth disproves it. There is blackness in my liver filtered from the bad blood of my years of writhing and a cancer in my soul that will eat my body in its own time It doesn't have to be this way, you argue. I'm not unreasonable, I'll agree with you it could have worked out differently. It could be different, even now. Change the perspective, soften the language, think in spectra in lieu of polarities Yet, in the wee hours of the night I'm all alone in an empty world, and I know I'm coming to a halt. It's the feeling of an organism reorganising, for disintegration; the sentiment of acidity a call to arms for microbial activity bent on giving back to Mother Earth what is ready for recycling. [27-XI-2010]