poe-eht?

Apply pressure to my mind,

for it is wounded.
I am leaking forth,

uncontained.
Hold me back from destruction,

for I shall surely fail.

On the brink of disaster,

or creation;

one cannot decipher my concievement from my ultimation.

Farewells are tangy and cold

upon the softly naive lips of an infant.

These gratitudes become meaningless obstructions

to life.