You say you're upset and you claim you're disturbed,
but it's I who have jumped every time that I've heard
your name mentioned softly in quick, furtive phrase,
and I can't help reliving those torturous days.
The pain numbed my heart and the numb steeled my brain,
and the happiness left me like sifting of grain.
The anger is gone, and the sigh, and the groan,
and the frown, and the tear--I'm an automaton.
I run from my doubt and the feeling inside
but it follows me 'round; there's no place I can hide,
except deep inside me where no one can come,
where none ever penetrates my shroud of gloom.
So how is the pain? How does it taste
over there on the tongue of Disaster's face?
Tell me, for well do I know that you may,
being Tongue, relate anything you wish to say.
It's a service to those of us topside, her eyes,
who are witness, dispassionate, to all the lies.
Being but eyes, I cannot speak or think--
In defense of myself, I can only blink.
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