The problem with writing
is sometimes the thoughts
rush through the pen so quickly
it leaves them indecipherable
the next morning.
My hands move too quickly,
and it makes the letters
loop violently like drunken slurs
under lamp posts at two in the morning.

Catastrophic.
Writing about the reasons I can
no longer trust
the time I surrendered myself
completely only to be left
dead in my tracks.
The first time I waived my
white flag and the
knife still entered my back.
Intoxicated lettering could
never completely explain.