By Christi  akane078@aol.com
Date: 28 February 2001

Droplets....

A tightening within my chest stabs
into the depths of my being.
He is near......
and so the knife twists.
From afar, he could not see the wound
that manifested itself,
nor the appearance of torture which
I carry in secret, camouflaging
with pleasantries.
Yet, nigh, his countenance is that of
empathy.
The bloody wound 
is exposed.
Yet, I, in unavailing attempt to
impart dignity,
smile as I walk away, all the while
dripping the crimson result 
of my agony
on the ground
as I 
go.......