cut
i cut myselfdailythe nibof the quillinto my exposedaortato spillmyself outonto the dirtyfloorpooling upin the fibersof the carpetinto anotherimpossibleword jumblemeant to tellher thati love her. more scar tissuethan manmore poetrythan poeticjust a lonelyfool withtoo much timetoo many wordsand not enoughher pressed closewhen the sorrowforces me tocut myself daily.