i’m patiently letting poetry course through my body tonight

yet it clings on to the corner of my ribs like a child

a troubled child refusing to be put out of misery

i’m dissolving in its refusal, becoming the entirety of my misery

yet i stroke my hand gently on my ribs, caressing, my child

i guess, i’ll let it rest for a while longer.


A little confession

What if I told you

I’m a prisoner to the voices in my head

A stolen kiss under the mistletoe, quick and embracing

A consequence of the darkness floating inside of me, consuming and terrifying

A madman set free, lost and scarred

Would you still stroke my hair, kiss my face and watch me fall asleep,

What if I told you?