It's a Saturday night in the snow
on a roof in Long Island
Smoke, seeping from my mouth
mists like curling fingers
Everything means nothing,
because the only thing I know,
is the potential for poison
in my mind
realization like a sharp cut,
a clean white paper cut
chokes me, and reassures me.
I will never die,
immortalized by my mother's love
The only thing that could **** me
is myself, angry self-destruction.
I am more dangerous than Bed-Stuy at 3am
or an empty subway car
My father knows
but my mother worries
unimportant consequences of boredom fuelled weekends.
I'm no danger to myself when her broken heart haunts my dreams.