Late night panics,
right hand shaken,
covered in blood and scars.
Shitty therapy sessions,
sane pills I’ve taken,
my inner critics
in their tea party
laughed and said
I’m insane.
Yet I say
“we’re all fucked here…”
Lost friends,
killed souls
I’ve stayed with—
sadly ended…
Always a memory away—
Gotta keep my head up…
All letters,
diaries and poems
I’ve written—
Scattered into
riddles and enigmas.
Readers falling down
rabbit holes—
Or that’s just
me as a poet…
My ticker,
a mad rabbit,
It runs—
Keeps running—
Running into
a train...