my mother was an addict.
history repeats itself.
my brother is an addict.


my brother is my twin.
history repeats itself.
my nieces are twins.


my mother lost a son.
history repeats itself.
I lost my son.


my parents were absent
from their children's lives.
history repeats itself.
their children are absent
from their lives.



when your children are afraid,
they will run to their mothers.
their worst fears will be
the boogeyman or
losing their parents.


my worst fear is that
my children will
run to a mother
who was like mine.

my worst fear is that
my children will feel
the same fears that I did.

my worst fear is that
my history will
continue to repeat itself.

he said
"I love you"

and maybe
I should've turned
and looked around

because
it's obvious now
that he wasn't
talking to me.

she didn't
stab me in the back
the way that people
have in the past.

she looked me
right in my eyes
and stabbed me
in my chest.



she didn't
backstab me.

she stabbed me
mid-sentence, when
I was still talking and
still trusting her



and then she
watched me die.

There is an artist in me
Staring despondently
Lost and in disparity

They say you stare at the void
And it stares back at you

But here there be a blank canvas
Just as blank as me too.