This Is Poetry

When I set myself on fire
inviting you to look,
this is poetry.

Peel away my flesh,
find a glowing sun.

Cut my aching throat,
hear the murmur of the ocean.

My body, a rich leather book
could hold a rainbow of sonnets
for the senses.

They wait to be written. But first,
you have to look.

Killer Work Out

Tonight I let my heart bleed out,
I did it at the gym.
All over the floor,
It was a mess.
Every last drop,
Came gushing, rushing, jumping out.
First black, then, blue, then red.
There was no purple.
I was surprised.
The janitor was annoyed.
So was the policeman.
I apologized.
But really, I was happy.
Had to get it out.
Get it all out.
All that poison, all that evil
Get it outside me.
Once and for good.
As I drove home,
The breeze was warm against my skin.
I held my secret close to me.
That all my blood
Had spilled out.
Gushed out, rushed out, jumped out
At the gym.

Stab Me

Your gaze stabs me. Your eyes
fix just below my carotid artery.
Stab me there.
Birds bleed above us. Their cries
rain pure terror from above.

I feel my life force leave me.
Feel my breath force through
my bones. They snap and bend
in the wind.

Hollowness has consumed me.
Emptiness, flatness, coldness.
More frigid than your voice.
More damning than your face.

I am alone.
I am alone.