These notions
selfish a wish
that begs cut
along a wrist.
Pain’s weight
thrashing go
away senses
feel not a low.
So I manic am
always dosed.
I open doors I
but am closed.
So I’ll see fit I
lash at a light.
It flickers as I
reflect an eye.
If an origin an
eye will supply
then I lambast
for cross am I.
Yet the billows,
feel as if cotton
as I beneath it
feel so rotten.
Am I to serve
in an anguish a
pain stays itch
do selfish ways?
More honor to
live but another
day knife down
I kiss as a lover.
