I refuse to believe
That I am defective
I will not apologize
For the scar tissue
Proclaiming evidence
Of my battles
I did not start my war
I was not born
Fighting and clawing
I learned to do this
To win the wars
Waged upon me
I refuse to believe
That I am defective
My scar tissue shows
The wars I chose to finish

The beer dried my tears

Anesthetic
Number Seven
Eight .   ?
N
          i
      n
                 e  ?
Who even cares...

The last rays of light on the brick
Alone
On the porch
Me and the teak wood
Wiping my tears with my sweet beers

Blood clotted tissues,

Full of blood

clotted

tissue,

I find

myself

waiting,

In the

waiting room....

Again.

I have a splinter in my heart
right in the middle point between the left atrium and the right ventricle.

A little husk of a beechtree seed
landed on the fragment of wood that now lives within me
and it cannot be removed or I will bleed all over and dry out.

It’s putting down roots on my cardial muscle tissue
one day it will break free, reaching for the stars.

Depression…
Where every shirt sleeve becomes a tissue