[I'll let this one speak for itself and you be your own judge.]
Shake it off
This thing that grips my heart
And constricts it to the smallest part
Of love, radiant, pure
Yet far from this blackened mass of vitriol and hurt
Another squeeze and it will shatter to icy shards of wracking pain
And then, when done, not even faintest light will in my twisted frame remain
Wrench it clear
This darkened vice
That sucks all warmth and veils all light
Tear it away
To allow the feeble beat a chance
To sound stronger 'less it fade to murmur
Slighter than the keenest ear
Though strained to limits far exceeding mean
Can ever hope to hear
Yes, strip it clean
Or I will die
Die, without the slightest hope
Of shrugging off this hangman's rope
