The constant elastic nervous mess

that ricochets along

in every waking moment

that has lain awake too long;

migraine-inciting, surplus blood

with drops so hot they scald;

the ache that breathes on crystal eves

for skin to be enthralled:

the murders grow as soft as snow,

an innocent onslaught -

its proudest act, though, downed an axe

on "never" and "cannot."