What am I
If not nothing
Am I what you see
Or am I what I see
Does it matter
And if not
Does nothing still apply

And

You were the love of my life
Right up until
You told me I was the love of your life

It wouldn’t occur to me
To ask of you
To ever think
Of I
Though I’ll never stop
Thinking of you
Until the day I die

There was that time.
And the time before that.
And then the time before that.
And by the time
I figured it out.
I’d run out of time.

I’ve written over a thousand poems.
I’ll probably write a few more.
Maybe I’ll stop tomorrow. Or maybe never.
I’ll write a letter to Death and ask her for more ink.
If she tells me to use my own.
Then I’ll write shorter poems.
But I’ll never stop.
Not until one of those poems hits its mark. And her heart weeps out of joy.
Not until it’s so beautiful that she cradles it like the starlight in her eyes.
Then and only then.
When she realizes just how much she means to me.
Will I ask her to do **** stuff.

You call yourselves poets
Artistic souls that see the world through the eyes of angels
Filleting their feelings like strips of cod, laying them out before a market of other poets
The air in here forces me to scoff, to gag on the air of over embellishment.
I pen as well, but not as well
I’ll admit to that
Over a thousand poems can be arrested to me
Though I do not call myself a poet
No
No my hapless ink stained celestial bound brethren of disdain and misery
I am a mad man.
Always desperately trying to find the right words
Frantically mashing away as if my fingers were trying to stomp out a ****** fire
Trying to keep my fingers busy
Lest I leave them be
They’ll **** me

You get off on licking your own skin, lapping up that which you sweat.
It’s who you think you are that you love more than anything else.
A trough for the masses who seek to get their fill until you stop smiling.
Misery lies in wait while you bask in the glow of idol worship.
Getting off on getting off until all that’s left is a lie and an empty bottle.
You better hope that that mirror is as good liar as you are to yourself.

We wander to and fro as you in likeness
Our spirits though
They wander in the forest of shadows cast by those we emulate
Deserted in a world within a world
So dark and so cold, light can’t survive it
Some of us just linger there
Letting time have it’s way with them
While others just keep walking into the folds of the night
So broken inside
They’ll stab the hand of salvation
Not out of contempt for the savior
But because they aren’t even worth saving