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I don’t make sense; that’s your job.
August 18, 2021
tears never well up in my eyes
my tears end up in yours
I’m the suicide bomber in the foggy rain
the cigarette in the dirt
the ruin in the city
yet I get the attention of demolition
my glamour reeks
of richness
that was built of death earth and non-existence
the anise in my tea matches the starts that align with my blood
my blood seeks through your pores
and irritates
your tough skin
I don’t make sense; that’s your job.
© Xin X., Willoughby,OH
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I wrote this when i was in a very bad place, fyi.