The Banshee

My voice can shatter
A thousand windows,
Sending flesh-slicing shards
East, west, north, and south;
Horizontally, vertically, and diagonally.

It is not often that I dive deep
Into this cyan ocean within me.
The pressure, a thousand times
Greater than on the surface,
Can cause a man to go insane,
To lose sight of his hands.

Shurikens fly from my mouth,
Embedding themselves in your breasts.
I wish my embrace could seal
The wounds my voice caused.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen