I sit, waiting in this room
That closes
Inwardly upon the reality of the flass of fuilt
Which cuts my skin
Which draws my blood
And kisses my emotions
One at a time and
Releases them piece by piece
Into this large world of chaos
The chaos of my language
My touch, my senses
Eat at/what I want/what urges/my life to continue
Each step
Heavier to life the leg
Step forward and continue on
Through the rubbage
That remains—vacant
Yet crowded by the homeless
Thought, which begs
For sympathy and nourishment
From my bleeding hands
Which can offer nothing
But the pain you so seem
To want
To live through even though
Nothing remains
Take my small childish hand
In yours and walk me though my broken mind
Until we find the light
In my wasteland of darkness
That is my mind
My soul
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