I have failed at Bisquick. Now I must go commit ritual suicide.

----

The hissing squeaks and squealing whirrs
That rise up from within...
...Rising impotence, aching
Running into walls...
It's like constipation of the soul
...
Listen closely, carefully
The curious sounds the body makes
When the heart is breaking.
-

Needs work, yes, but it's just the last two lines that matter, hence why they're the only ones that make sense. Fragmented poetry. I need to get back into the habit of writing.