I wrote fantasies and I wrote about sleep
I wrote about demons and
how they danced around a fire in my dreams
I wrote about skeletons in my closet that suffocated me
I wrote about monsters that I rolled around with
In my sheets and when “I love you”
Used to sound sweet
I wrote until my brain stopped flooding and my fingertips began to bleed

Poetry
       i wrote until it
              Finally
          Became easier to
Breathe
m.d

I would gladly die a whisper
on the tip of your tongue.

how lonely it must be to
know,
and know alone

It makes you cry and leaves you sad
But you like the salt and you love the mad