for years ive wondered where my spark went,
or how my dark can go from dark as 'night'
to bright
as light
& vice versa.
ive wondered why my poems had only rhythm and surface,
barely passion or purpose.
-
barely spoke,
barely wrote anything so everything stayed glued to my insides
and slowly ate away all sense of everything.
im reckless and
i move slow because ill make a mess of anything
close enough.