- Non-Erotic Poetry
- depression
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wasteland this heart,
pumps acid,
leaves nerves corroded,
holes, sharp edges,
the broken glass of thought surrounds
the trench of feeling,
everything gets caught, collapses,
torn and bleeding,
goes no further than the fence of fear.
alone,
with rituals and prayer,
tries alchemy of needles,
gods and other incantations,
desperate to touch,
be touched, this shell of skin,
to fly, escape the desolation,
trenches, walls,
this wasteland of my heart,
helpless in another’s history,
endless in the mirror of my eye,
memories stain the vast snows of my arctic heart
oh fuck what have I become?
