A home I’ve made along the strands of the rope,
breaths coiled in my loops under the dark bed,
crying aloud at the edge of the knife among the apples,
diving slowly in depths of the bottle of sleeping pills,
echoing over the muddy stones on the cliff,
forever hidden beneath the pebbles along a rail track,
growing louder between sand specks on the river bank,
hoping to fulfill my greed for depression,
instincts feeding over a broken heart or failure,
just satisfied with pressures hauled on shoulders breaking your knees,
kicking you in the chest with feet of dejection and pessimism,
lovingly looping around your neck with
malice mangling every will to survive,
never able to cross the flames of happiness,
opening welcoming arms for you at the table,
pepper and gloom sprinkled to gobble you up.
Questions I create to hang in corners of your brain causing
reasoning to fade away along with your joy.
Stings of my seasoning sinking into your ribs,
tears gushing in oceans from your eyes,
under the mask I make you wear-
velvety on the outside, thorns within.
Waiting eagerly in your flesh for
xerarch veins in your palms to make
you lose your body to me and
zip up the pain right into the blood.
Thank You Dear.