Who am I, anyway?


Am I the laughter in the
Spring air
When she spins around
My golden brown hair?

Am I the pulse
In his veins
When he taps his feet
To the beat of the rain?

Am I the hunger in his
Broken iris
When he asks if there
Is more to life than this?

No, I know the truth.*

I am the tip of the
Needle injecting
These nasty drugs that
Pollute my dreams, infecting

I am the bitter tone
In his voice
When he swears that
I always had a choice

I am the poison in his
Deflated lungs
I am the venomous girl
That no one could ever love