I stare at
these cruelties
with an eye
that has
seen the
ugly side
of Eden.

I tighten my
grip around
the wine bottles
neck with
a hand that
has been raised
and stained
in war.

My heart has
swelled,
the blood that
feeds it has grown
heavy with war.

Inner city war,
war waged against
conformity,
wars fought
hand to
bloodied hand
on a prison yard.
War amongst
my sanity and
my soul.
Wars lost
but never
surrendered.

These vicious
ways keep
me alive ,
keep me in
line.

My blood is
heavy,
slowed by
the weight of
the poppies blood.

My blood is
heavy, so very
heavy as it
runs through
these tired
veins and keeps
my heart alive.