My best poetry
is about poetry,
about a piling your guts
on an empty page
and calling it art,
about tears dripping from your fingertips,
the light leaving your eyes to join the page,
hands cracking like the fire you want to start
and nights where you only converse with the thoughts in your head.
I know words will destroy me,
but I keep leading them on,
fresh pages for new ideas
that ultimately consume me.
I will fight with the art that bleeds me dry
simultaneously saving and destroying me
in its fragile arms.
You'll find me here
crying lead tears
that fill up the page
as something that breaks me
and makes me raw.
I have given myself up
to the words that create themselves
in which writing about writing
is the only savior I've found.
