poetry is rot
in my brain.
come at me,
i would if i could,
she sang.
cyanide marijuana
collapsible nirvana.

it hates me, poetry.
it hates that I have
given it up for fear.

did I love a reason
to be lazy or
did I love poetry
too much
to use it forever.

i crave touch.
i want to feel warmth
until the day i die.
poetry touches me cold.
give me back my
love.

no no no no no no
don't leave me like this.