confessionmy writing is justconfession in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the questions that i never
wanted to answer
butane promisesi use to be such a scared little boy,butane promises in Free Verse More Like This
always running from nothing,
and screaming for everything,
and laughing and crying.
but now i am numb, sealed at the soul,
tapered at the seams, i no longer
have a pulse in rhythm or a hair in line,
i run circles around ant piles and lakes and large streams,
i want to feel alive for more than five seconds and it almost feels nice for once, but
it never satisfies what i lost, what was taken from me, what i never had.
for the last time, i am not going to count
or whisper, or scream out loud.
if i am going to die, it may as well be
silence, passion screeching against the upstairs wall,
i repeat my name over and over and over,
and maybe if i etch the letters into my skin,
maybe finding my emotions won't be as
hard as i thought it would be.
the reason i stole black pens was
to trace the lines that crack my hand
and spread the cuticles and break the cells,
creating maps of multi-continent story telling
nothings, maybe i will find a forest filled with
there's blood on the sheetswhen my nose bleeds you can read my everythere's blood on the sheets in Free Verse More Like This
thought plain across my stark red hands, doves are
swooping down to lather in my red insecurities, they
want to be as pretty as a cardinal, or a ruby, or a
stop smelling my hands for butane, when i am
ready to go under i will alert no one first and myself
last. so stop worrying about me when i pluck cells
from my iris, spreading the plague of my emotions
like oysters baking in the sun.
cease being anything more than cells, and tissue
and organs and organ systems and alive. i'm
crumbling your insides into jars made of others and
when i toss you into lakes, if you float to the surface,
let's call it a baptism.