Worms (what can words do?)

When words aren't enough,
What can you say?
When your actions feel like your organs are festering,
Worms writhing in your every viceral crevice,
Making you gag with disgust,
What can you do?
When you're so much of a fuck up,
That you drink enough to dissolve the worms,
But they just writhe all the more.

I'm gagging on my own fear,
My throat paralyzed shut,
For it does not want me to say this.
To say the things I've done,
The places I've been.
The bridges I've burned.
My utter hatred is consuming me,
But only because its toward myself.

I wanted to appologize,
But I know that will never do anything.
After more than a year of not logging on,
After more than a year of not even looking at this site,
After more than a year of viceral maddness,
After more than a year of institutions,
Of restraints
Of hospitals
Of abuse
Of drugs
Of drinking
Of sorrow
Of hope.
Hope of forgiveness.
Forgiveness for a cruel sin.
Forgiveness for a heartless sin.
Forgiveness for more than a year of ignorance.
Forgiveness for two years of fear.
Forgiveness for the lies.
For my cruelty.
For not saying this before.
But what can words do?

They open old wounds.
They rip the weak stitches of time,
Pour salt on the open sores,
Even when they are words that mean no evil.
Words of one released from fear.

What can words do?
Bring back ghosts.
Reveive the dead.
Create more worms,
But also kill them