Hooked

Can I catch
myself reacting, or
will it always be
like water flowing through
a fisherman’s net?

Would that I’m
sorry, could
ever recompense.

Snagged by my own barbs,
I wildly thrash.
Sluice gates slam shut –
rivers of sadness
overflow.

What but this cry
will alleviate
this awful
metal taste?

What but this cry
can ease
my hammering
heart?