every line
in my brain,
through my mind
goes insane.
the words of birds
i curse, rehearse,
distort, retort,
until they’re the worst.
and it’s done so coldly.
unclean, unholy,
no one told me,
i could be this lonely,
could be two faced
intertwined, interlaced,
best friends with this
waste of space
that is me.
i exist to be
a living seething
the ‘woe-is-me.’
the wolf in sheep’s
clothing, hoping
just to breathe.

-m.p. 07/09/2014