Craving for that quick fix, the euphoric yet momentary feeling of being loved,
Mustering up enough empathy, love and kindness to give, even though I am starved,

Walking down dark alleys, searching in all the wrong places,
Quick taste of the sample has me blurring out all the bad memories and faces,

Until, I am yet again brutally mugged,
Robbed by people often disguised as friends and family the minute I’m sufficiently drugged,

I wallow in pain and self-pity,
Over and over, it’s the same story,

Falling from a new height to an even newer low,
There’s heartbreak wherever I go.

Poets are sociopaths
masquerading as artists
who've convinced themselves they know how to connect to other people
while having no clue where their own heart is.

What if the clouds are weeping with glee
As they gently let their burdens go
Cherishing what it means to be free
Dancing in the wind, with ebb and flow?

My death
Would be my last attempt to get your attention