it's as if it were
if i should say like
she never really was anything
at all

in the affirmation of this
the truth of
reluctance to
look ahead
always

taken by the skin
of these afairs
split at the seams
he splits the hairs over the skin on the skull of an
unidentified male

the sounds are all
as the blood returns
and the cells are blinking
nurtured by oxygen in just so
quantities as to neglect to
burn

the ego switch and every stove i've touched
has a part of me again
and while i've always known i don't so much
wish to die and as i return to myself
i am anchored in that notion

and cumulatively i'd say my strongest regret
will be pursuing sex outside devotion

then now in retrospect i'd be saying
that's the case

and now as i write i feel as if i'm just
going through the motions

-

the gears turn as i force my way through
and now this is a different poem
i've erased two lines because i thought they were junk
because now i don't know what i have to say

i've written about love and death and altered states
still i don't think the poem is over
sometimes i find it hard to relate what i'm feeling when i'm sober
but i'm never steady in my mind

i feel like i've been left out of the secret
but i'm trying not to care
over interested in a trinket
but reaching out with my ear
i don't want to be receding
i don't want to die
i don't like these words you're reading
and i wonder why

i

write

them