the bitter made sweeter
with every empty word you utter.
i wish i could return
to the crossroads
and cross that road again,
marking the steps i had taken
with stones to leave unturned.
my fear made clear
with every empty paper you tear.
to pieces, to pieces —
these words like broken pieces of glass.
they glitter — such deceptive beauty
but oh! how they cut
the barefoot goddess as she treads
it was clarity spoiled
by conscience misguided and
it makes no sense to tread that path again.