my poetry’s gotten darker
my heart harder
my eyes colder
my hands callus

my years have grown shorter
and my mind bolder
but all for the sake of weeping
the gnashing of teeth on a rock
and the bashing of my head on yours
again and again

i must have fallen on bad times, i’m writing again
this feeling in my gut tells me so
i’m feeling poetic, like before
i can only pray for what’s in store for me
i can only guess it’s bad

that feeling, like you know your body’s breaking
you can’t stop your aching heart
you’re being torn apart by each ligament
and all you can do is leak

my poems feel numb again
my heart bleeds blue
and somehow I feel I’m different
my poems don’t shine
they’re dull and dead
and filled with spite
and that frightens the **** out of me