When I look in a mirror, I no longer see
the smiling person I used to be.
Drained from being the giver, I’m drowning
in the stinking cesspool of the taker.
Toxic to the touch—stay away from me,
and the stench of my grotesque demons.
My temper’s explosive and I stockpile
red, white and blue weapons of an assassin.
Hieronymus Bosch’s sorcery and sins of temptation
swirl around in my head in his garden of earthly delights.
I know longer awaken in the same skin—my heart has turned to stone.
I’m going away and will hug you twice in case I don’t come back.