I have constantly rearranged myself,
eaten away at my own stomach
and then come to wonder
why it is I cannot eat.

I have always found a reason
to smoke instead of drawing a breath;
as if breathing cannot save me,
as if breathing has not been the only thing
that has always been there, since birth;
in spite of myself in grey days-
in spite of genocide
and weeks spent inside,
emptied bottles of wine
and tracks that disappear
before the end of the line.

I have constantly been reappearing
in social circles,
long enough to hold a thought
across the beer garden table,
long enough to make promises
that I could never hope to keep.
I have been haunted
in places filled with light,
I have plundered all my longings
at the mercy of the night.