I’m addicted to the feel of cold metal sliding across bare flesh
Addicted to the instant
when nothing marks smooth skin
immediately before
red rivers rapidly rise
painting a once white canvas
with a flood of emotion,
tears on my cheeks,
sobs caught in my throat,
numbness replaced by pain & sadness.
Addicted to the imperfection
of red welts and dotted scabs that follow,
fingers drawn like magnets
to the texture of healing skin,
tracing over and over and over now fading ridges
Amazed that I am strong enough
to heal myself over and over and over.
Convincing myself that I am strong enough.
I find strength in my weakness.

All I wanted was a Hug

A kind of touch that doesn't need words
nor does it need to know
Just ask me the right questions
and it will all pour down
like an endless waterfall of pain and regret
from the depth of my soul
that no one could understood
not even I
so what's the point of asking if

All I wanted was a Hug

The inability to feel
Pleasure, pain, remorse
Insanity I call it
And let it run its course

Forever shutting out the world
Destined to be stag
Disconnected from myself
I only have this bag

The little bag of burden
Which I am forced to call my soul
Carries around forever
Its inability to be whole

Wishing to be forgotten
The little bag feeds me lies
Murky its reassurance
Only to fool the eyes

Toted around all eternity
Like a tumor on my back
It handicaps my pathways
To the emotions which I lack

2005

I met her
at
the local book-
shop
and for a
brief
moment in time
we
didn't feel alone
anymore.

the snake does
not love

what it squeezes

the bear does
not love

what it hugs

the man does
not love

what he possesses