A Chore

If only I
could pair
beautiful
imagery with
my words,
lilting melody
to my song,
revelatory
meaning to
my poetry…

Perhaps it
wouldn’t
bore the
shit out
of you
as much
to read it,
as it
does me to
write it.

The Mirror

Hair crunchy like straw
Brain burst with chaos
Eyes darkened shadows
Arteries slick with grease
Lips rough as sandpaper
Cheeks stained with tears
Skin cracked and weeping
Forearms heavily scarred
Liver soaked with alcohol
Heart cold as granite

I hate looking in the mirror
For I do not like what I see
I shall stop looking in the mirror
For I do not like me