Pity (Poetry)

There are still times when the sound of my own screams
drown out the world —
I hear nothing but the grief in me that wails its anger —
such rage is deafening and closes out
all other voices.

Pity gnaws — forever hungry — never sated —
its teeth familiar as a bone saw cutting through
a rotten limb.

Sometimes I let it feast — chew off
as much as it can take and haul away —
leave me to cauterize what’s left —
surprised to find I can still move — believe
that what remains won’t suffer any more.