Does the sting of my stabbing pen slice open          your weeping wounds?
Do the nails holding you together rattle
when you read there’s a hammer lodged in my head?

The ghastly stank of young pain whiffs 
Its putrid fragrance up your scrolling face,
Too much for you to tolerate.

Beat those nails in.
Lock the oozing agony away,
Cement it to the recesses of your mind.
That made you happy right?

Happiness,
  a taste of golden serenity that dances across our tongues
From time to time while we make our way to a silent grave.