my body has been devouring me for months.
no matter how i feed it, the acids work
their way around the food, gnaw at
my stomach lining.
my body has been devouring me for months
and i do not know how to work my way
around it. i write poems. i pray.
i go jogging. i ask my friends for
comfort. i ponder the meaning of life.
i wash dishes. i scrub clothes. i’m
not even sure what it means to live
anymore, unless i am doing it,
unless it is this giving in, this bleeding out.
from the March 2007 issue of High Altitude Poetry
read more of my poems from HAP here.
1 comment:
that's the pain of trying to make meaning out of 'life'. some times i think its best to just leave things alone... tag along not caring who sees or cares. far as i know, that's worse than trying to understand...
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