My soul, don’t die.
My soul, by pain be nurtured.
Don’t kill yourself, devouring in haste.
The most vicious foe is hope.
With love forever purge it.
Insanity, my soul, is our saving grace.
In flying lies your sense, in flying and in soaring
Above the fray – you will create your wings
Out of the torn off skin.
The venom of the poem
Will substitute for blood,
And you’ll be moved to sing.