5-20-2001


loosely based on my life
i weave tightly tales with this jagged knife
on a board in a dark room,
also scraping the floor with the edge of a spoon
sharpened to a straight edge
rocking slowly, keeping quiet, keeping my head
gaze out the window at daylight
i could stare for hours and watch for the night
it enters the room and makes me cold
i look down to entertain the tools i hold
two razors with which to carve
bleed myself dry or wait and starve?
like everyone else, i've made my own cages
depression and anger- it's what all the rage is.