I am not who I was
Nor am I
What I shall surely Decay into
My Past crumbles away
Deliciously remembered morsels,
Lay bug-ridden on a cold unwashed plate
I have eaten my life,
Gluttonously in large un-chewed bites
At times too big to swallow
My eyes are full
Of trouble,
Brooding One.
I am that I am.
Know this:
It is not my intention to arrive safely to my grave,
Rather, let me fall battered and bruised
Diseased, having lived, and loved
And Sinned.
We all court Death
Marrying our brown square graves in the end
Let me be acquainted with my own morbidity
For I am Alone
And I will be alone
Pity not this poor, poor creature
Not afraid to live.

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