I was always a poet of misery
Somehow pain brings out the best in me
Somehow all the avalanches I fell
Give me a story to tell
And spin the wire into thread
Of gold instead of dread
Instead of forests made of trees
And wasps living with honey bees
I imagine that my might
Comes from the fire I ignite
But the point is this my friend
Something had to end
And that was the innocent painless child
That got thrown into the wild
By the feral dogs who hunt
The girl because she is a runt
The small because she is little
The flower because a skittle
Can be crunched between teeth
And stood on underneath
But within my hunkered prose
There was something else I chose
Not to be buried but consume
The darkness I ate inside my room
Sitting there for houred long
On my own I got strong
But I got weak before I did
I left myself to be his
And in doing so forsyth
I am my own Kryptonite
I am my own fever
I can’t say that you didn’t leave her
Only that you never had
A girl because you feel bad
You had one because your dues
Plays me like baby blues