The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.

oh, how in this dark
oh, how the wave flows,
the sky black and stark-
oh, how the wind blows.

the little dogs bark
their songs full of woes,
oh, how in this dark-
oh, how the wind blows.

the autumn draws nigh -
last splash of the rose,
a withering sky-
oh, how the wind blows!

Let us bloom under the moonlight
Like withered flowers waiting patiently for their roots to grow back
For the night is the only time of the day
Or the day is the only time of the night
When life stretches itself and memories become vulnerable to the light
The eyes roll and turn
They strike face to face with the brain
In front of a thousand whispers
A thousand cries
Rotten kisses and gullible lies
Stroke a shell on the searing sand
Every little grain shivers against its neighbor
And the whole beach arouses to the perturbation
A stranger yet so inoffensive
But even microscopic acarines
Whirl in the wind of a sneeze
So before starting to snap your tongue on the roof of your mouth
Catch your words in your throath
And taste them
Guzzle
Do not forget their savor
Catch them fast
If you are not as swift as a tender breeze
You will swallow your own thick tongue
You will become your words
And these words will reflect you
A big satisfying outcome
How solemn would it be
To dance to the rhythm
Of your baked coal heart
Drumming on its cage

One small thing, that's all it is.
One small thing to ruin the happiness I've built.
One small comment to make the water fall from my eyes.
The silliest things, the tiniest hint of hostility. Causes so much pain..

I look down to where my scars used to be. My wrists a sensation begins almost like a tickle. This feels so familiar.
And I can picture the little red lines. Like tally marks.
One for last week,one for yesterday. One for today.

In my mind I know these thoughts are harmful. Dangerous.
I've worked on this.
I learned to ignore it.
My mind says no, but will I really take the blade and tally up the score?

What's the worst that could happen?
After all it's just one.small.thing.