Well, that Cat Power song, coupled by a rather sad story I read on the net today, kinda sent me into a tailspin...

BRITTLE

The sensual pleasure of weeping
takes me like a wallowing wanderer.
I offer my offending orifices
on the altar of this tragic bliss.
Opened,
dissected and inspected,
fingered for flaws
I've never seen.
"Get back on that table young lady"
and she smiles,
says thank you when she leaves.

The lump in my throat
swells like a hard-on.
I'd pay for another show
just to make the tears flow.
"I miss the comfort in being sad"
Nothing natural in being glad.
Touch the wound again...
Ah.
Make it jump a little.
Regrets are far too brittle.