twenty-seven: a birthday poem

pull me up
out of this twist of blackness
i feel myself lit within
with the dark spark of madness

my flesh hangs on my bones
as i near the day of my birth
when i was coughed out
of an unknown woman’s girth

the summer burns red
a time for dying
if i said i loved august
i’d be lying

it feels something akin to
drowning in dry air
i write my epitaph
on a strand of my hair

i ask only this
in a voice so low:
forget you knew me
and let me go.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.