It's hard for me do develop rapport
with myself. It's like parts of me fractured
into pieces unseen, soul enraptured
by the loss of- what? Mosquitos can't soar,
fat bug, red-filled sack of crave, jealousy
alive on it's tongue as it drinks my heart.
It's either sweat or bleed... obnoxious start
to my night. How it burns, to let it be-
I'm distracted, focus lost by the bite
I can't escape. I'd rather feel the sting
and shout once a day than let the burns sing
across my body. Each night is a fight.
I'm captured by sleep, her hands are as soft
as her shadows. She holds me aloft.