Poor little wanderer,
I saw you shed your first tear— beg on your knees
with your bare face, reaching to heaven through prayer.
Desperation seeping through sweaty nightmares and
a pair of arms swinging in constant defense.
Dancing along the lines of the vortex with your heart throbbing
and your lips twisting.
You feared Death
and now you seek it— I can smell your desire
in each cell,
each pretense to find meaning.
What a sweet thing,
roaming through your soft tissue until it hardens
because you cannot dwell with the truth of your demons.
You’re on your own—
but I’m always there,
at the bottom of your throat,
mouth of your stomach
spreading down your thighs
and a burden to your chest.
If you listen closely, you’ll hear me
echoing in the back of your head.
Whether addressing, confessing
or repressing— I will be there,
watching
judging
roaming…
enjoying.











