My old self keep dying everyday
To keep tryst with new beginning
Young heart beating with vigor
Every vein filled with brimming hope
Charting new territories
Being better than my old persona
Inception of fresh perspective
Every cosmic particle in me enthused
After fresh lease of life

No pants.
Black tank top.
Music on.

Pills in.
Tears nonexistent.
Numb.

I think.
Try to find myself.
Who am I?
I come to a blank.

Can't find me.
Just my acts.

I swallow.

Bleeding from thighs,
Carelessly bleeding in the middle of the
family room.

Thinking.
***** rises.
I run and help it go.

Look in the mirror.
Not me.

My persona swallowed me.

Run and lay into the middle of the floor.
The rest of me sinking into hell.

I'm nothing but an act.

I am not ready to allow my broken body to yield to you
The centuries have weathered and ruined me
My mind stays, it insinuates movement, restless and hopeful
I am a vessel that bleeds out dreams and simplicity
I long for escape, I long to free myself from insignificance
My muscles ache under my skin from being mangled
All of my bones lie broken
So I am left here, to reflect on how nonessential I am
And I can only gaze at the same sight I've seen
I have been coerced to watch the earth, who does not appreciate me
For I am nothing but the moon.

don't you hate it? -
when you write a poem
and you adopt this persona
you use "I"
(yeah, the first person)
and your reader is so ****** literal-minded
and takes the "I" to be "you"
and comforts you, or winks at you
offers heavy commiseration
or provides motherly or
fatherly advice
or grandpa's advice
(as the case might be)...
and you want to scream:
Hey, it's not me!

it's like the novelist
who's asked by their readers:
Is this novel about your life?

*Hey, it's not me! It's not me!

Oh, What a View!
      from this hazy morning hue,

Familiar faces        interlacing
    back-trip Flashes
Heart is Racing

In my brain &
  through my veins
i still feel the
                       ACID STAIN

Recollections of
Reckless Havoc,
Wreaked when I was
Trapped in Magic

man
  last night
                                           who was i ?

  right now i'm fading from my sight

I am here while i am There
and I have yet to    Find my Mind .

The literal mask
I put on every morning.
Smothered with powder
Then smoothed down by cream
A smack of red
right dab in the center
the illusion of ***
in the curve of the lips.
A doll with a face mad of wax
the white plastic covering
that makes up the mask.