Reminiscing

The heart of you
has eyes that
See right through me
Right thick into the core
Of me
where the black
and the
Maniac
Lie in wait, silent, patient
Always awake
He watches reverently
For when my hand may
Slip the gate
To ease through
Soft as a caress
And pour out a volcanic sea
of red
Blood and Anguish
and all that I can
Never take back.

[Thanks Anne Sexton and all those angsty months of my twenty-somethings that I spent reading you, getting inspired, and penning my sorrows in poetry.]