Can I catch

myself reacting, or

will it always be

like water flowing through

a fisherman’s net?

Would that I’m

sorry, could

ever recompense.

Snagged by my own barbs,

I wildly thrash.

Sluice gates slam shut -

rivers of sadness

overflow.

What but this cry

will alleviate

this awful

metal taste?

What but this cry

can ease

my hammering

heart?