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.
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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