Nothing here isn't much.
Even if you unwrap and spill, everything remains the same.

When one is defeated within, one puts on a brave face, like a tree stripped of its branches shining brightly in the fading sunlight.

Sadly, poetry always follows me around like a debt collector. I scribble a line or two here and there out of sheer desperation to divert its constant attention from me.

I read your writings
You said “God was a woman,
But she was not mine.”
And when they say; “my God”
I did not know we were speaking
Of property
Of ownership
Are they truly a God
If they belong

Will you not tell me
Of your longing instead
Not of your wishes
For her to open her pearly gates
I know you tasted heaven once
I know you licked golden honey
From the fountain of life

It seems you will always thirst
For the juice, of forbidden fruit

Parasite to my peace
Shadow man
Sinking his teeth
Into my solid living
He is liquid in memory
I, semi-permeable in my strength
Do not let me slip
Pull me from the edge