Self-sharpener.

It occurs to me, at times,
that,
sculpting with words,
one hits a nodule

CRAP!
That went right into my eye.

The sheer rage
(yeah, why not?)
is me, too.

It comes, usually
in sound,
seldom
written,
mute.

Ineffectual,
primary
and gratuitous,
it's not a friend, or a welcome companion.

The price to pay,
melancholy,
which I gladly pay,
that's the animal I am.