Ramblings of a Tormented Soul

I cannot channel into mere syllables these emphatic surges of concentrated pain. How do I scribble all the angst out onto a page? Can you see in the way I cross my t's that I am completely broken? Is it obvious in the arrangement of grammar that I have have lost myself? Possessed and tortured by a voice, a voice I call my own. These things, these fragile beckonings, they tempt me into fractures. In the leisurely sigh a raven takes flight and I fall further down. Wild melodies that haunt like cruel lullabies that only bring you nightmares. Some unworthy passion, undeserved adoration, an untainted taste of love. Ah, but how could he love me? I can't love myself. In fact, throw it around, confronted by contrast, a blank space filled with ink. A poison so strong it deteriorates everything, everything that I touch. Acidic, corrosive, self-destructive. A feather touch and there are valleys of tears. What are we going to do with me? I ask you, tired, so, so tired of bringing you to this place. Your patience is infinite, your heart infallible. I am nothing, why you dedicate yourself to that is beyond me. But I cling to it like it tugs the azure sky a little lower down. I breathe in fear that you will realise and run, leaving me with only clouds. You see how this torrent cannot be blunted? You see my inability to quell the flow? Oh yes, and you are my secret. They don't know, no one knows. An obscuring blanket of numbing deceit. Where do I go to redeem myself? Can you point me towards atonement? (As if I'd even read the map.) I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I called myself broken, then named it histrionic. A label to repel myself further from me. A porcelain doll. A hammer.