She named me "Joy" so I can bring happiness to her

But I turned out to be the black sheep of the family.

I never wanted to be the reason for her sorrows and cries

But I couldn't even make her smile for once.

smoke then ashes
what is left behind

after I disappear
memories are made

of soft putty
meant to be

manufactured by
our minds

we are all sculptors
or perhaps

magicians or
better yet

manipulators
trying to mold

the past with
a future

into something
we can live with

at least for a moment

I was suicidal when I was 9.
Open cute little journal
“I hate myself”
Pages 1, 2, 20.

It’s supposed to be hard to care about other people,
Not yourself.

11 when I felt nothing
12 when I asked pain for a visit.
Just one minute of feeling,
Please.

I connect too deeply with my blood.
That’s why we’re best friends.

Or, maybe, I don’t connect deeply enough with her.
With that warm fluid pulsating the individual dance
Of my
And only my
being.

If a writer
Falls in love with you
       you can never
                die................