every person i see
each place that i’ve been
invites death to my door,
to sleep in my bed.
—
each thought that i think,
every word that i write
holds a blade to my throat
and still twists the knife.
—
when will this death
die out from within.
it pierces and prods
and breaks on my skin.
—
this death knows my name
it remembers me well,
pervading all that i am
only leaving the shell.
—
which death must i die
to truly find life,
to get through the darkness,
and outlast the plight.
—
i continue to bleed,
still the questions don’t cease,
no matter to death
to offer me peace.
t.w.