You Young Wild Thing

Dying Child

Every part of me is brittle
And in danger of being broken
The anger bubbles up my throat
All the words I cannot say
Reach the tip of my tongue
Before I slay them; cage them
Burry them away
My fight turned to flames
I held my breath
So the fire wouldn't spread
I smile gently
So no one could see the smoke
I laugh
So no one will know
That I am a dying child
Who wishes to be held.