Six

The days inflict
And nays depict
The ways in which
I’ve begged and wished
In every way I could
To get a single word
Or fix

The way I’m mixed
Abrade and kick
And maybe this
Is laying bricks
On my old coffin lid
Farewell to bid by
River Styx

The waves afflict
And sway, constrict
And say conflicting
Things – an itch
I keep trying to scratch
But there’s a catch
In every click

The waits affix
And phrases nixed
And maybe it’s
Insanely sick
But ‘lo you never speak
And so a week
Turns into six

Provoke

I’m sorry that I spoke
That my fragile feelings broke
And never could I stamp them with
A word that means revoke

I’m sorry what awoke
From the fire – so much smoke
And even as I burned my hand
I felt the need to stoke

I’m sorry that I poke
And prod until you choke
Until you fear I truly am
A villain in a cloak

I’m sorry that I yoke
My will to you like oak
And cannot seem to snuff the fire
That you still provoke