writing bloodless words just
to read the hieroglyphs hidden
in the blank spaces they leave,
ducking my eyes whenever anyone
asks how i’m doing.
would kill for six hours’ sleep,
craving oblivion like some people
crave cigarettes, wishing
i could unfilter the thoughts
that churn like a steel mill:
am pale and weak
and tired of crying,
eyes given up on their color and
their question; blindly accepting
the possibility i
lost my soul some weeks ago.