Poetic Justice

Words
Have haunted me since birth;
Gave breath to my name.
Have devoured me;
Drove me insane.
Have forsaken me;
In the drought of my inspiration
They wish me to explain...

I could not.

I bleed black
Ink on innocent pages
With a hand wielding a sword
Much sharper than the tongue
And much smaller than a gun
Yet cyanide when consumed...
-Did warriors ever cut their own
Hearts out when trying to enter
That of another?-

But

To live without words weaves the thin blue symmetrical lines into the threads of a noose
Which would crush my throat until my guts
Finally
Come spilling out.
Yet my dying breath would pass a sentence from lung to lip
With a single soul purpose.
(My epitaph)
; To live by the sword
Means that you shall die by the sword...
Would that not serve poetic justice?