I wrote this poem a while back (Warning: It's pretty dark):

Crush.

I could crush

this skull, bone is

nothing more than

gathered dust, and

it could be dispersed

again, ashes to ashes.

I could dig my nails

into this flesh, dig a

grave deep into this

living coffin.

Blood would flow, dark

as my thoughts, and the

pain might just drown

me before it ran out.

But he mourns before

I start, so I just hang

my head in shame, for

the body on which I’ve

tried to inflict all this

is His, not my own.

I'm praying for you!

:)