A shallow breath crease these pages,
A  cry for help goes unnoticed.

The cool heat of this itch,
Embers of light return,
Even if it’s just for a moment.

Where the excessive taps fade and stirring quiet ensues; the tears sting these wounds.
These wounds I have found a warm, numbing comfort in.

Poor poetic friend
wasn’t self-respecting
kept on doubting
what she was doing
so, I told her,

You do quite alright.
As far as the amount I write.
Well, I do not have much of a social life,
because I like the quiet nights.
Plus, my job provides more free time
to create free rhymes
then most nine to fives.

I stood next to him
and felt the gap
of time difference

I didn’t hide it this time
I didn’t bundle up my mess
I didn’t  disguise it in cloth
I did leave it there
Open in the trash for people to see
Knowing the twisted necks and judging faces that will follow  
I did acknowledge how women it is to be ashamed
But I remind myself
not all blood comes from wounds