i cut myself
daily
the nib
of the quill
into my exposed
aorta
to spill
myself out
onto the dirty
floor
pooling up
in the fibers
of the carpet
into another
impossible
word jumble
meant to tell
her that
i love her.

more scar tissue
than man
more poetry
than poetic
just a lonely
fool with
too much time
too many words
and not enough
her pressed close
when the sorrow
forces me to
cut myself daily.