When the words
"I am a poet"
escapes from my lips,
people claim how full
of emotions I must be.

They seem to be shocked,
when they get to read me,
my poetry, my work,
how little emotional I am.

I am a poet,
because once upon a time
I chose to write
instead of dying.

Only when I let my thoughts be free,
I allow myself to feel,
and only when I write
I get to know some version of me.

i can smell the beginning of time
i feast on its flavor and in my belly
there's a suicidal undercurrent
this is love-hunger gnawing at a touch
at flickers of touch
i'm feeling my age

Woke up to shovel snow in the rain
So cold and gray
Another day
Another day
Another day
All just the same
Still waiting for the warm
Waiting for the light of day

Cannibalism starts with a kiss,
but I want to
offer him my blood,
and as cherry wine
pour it into a fancy glass,
I want to be served
on his dinner table
a three course meal,
save my heart for dessert,
and the only favor I will ask
is for him to use my fingertips
to clean the corners of his mouth.
A final act of intimacy,
for a fatal love.

I broke my own heart,
and with the sharp edges
I shaped my own soul,
beauty turned into terror
and from the rotten dreams
no roses bloomed.