A sponge of purple ink
weighted with bitter taste,
give away for free—give
away without even

a second thought—what you
think, and loss landfills things
like your head’s emptiness
with regrets that leave when

that brain-meat’s been drained clean
of all its colour, of
its power over pink
becoming grey. Let live

unsaid what lives you think
you’ve yet to lose and, with

time, you’ll prove more than kings
can do that true wealth moves
through your veins, vanishes
with breath but retains in

coded coils what stains flesh
with indelible links.
Chains unafraid to bleed
painful memories win

affections your being
too unkind to your Self—
too unforgiving—keep
deaf-sentenced to languish

in silence. If you sing
of freedom, it’s granted.