poetry

ULCER (a poem)

the stabbing pain
in my gut stems
from the sins i’ve
swallowed lately.

at first it was
a slight discomfort,
then it became a fist
lodged inside me,

and now the chemicals
burn and degrade
my choices down
into sparks.

but the truth
remains: the pain
i’ve got is here,
rotting my core,

and i need medicine,
but sometimes
medicine isn’t
the only cure.

poetry

TEMPORARY (a poem)

this present stress
will
last only so long

before we know it
our
fears will be gone

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poetry

QUESTION (a poem)

does every question have an answer?

life is full of questions
and not so many answers:

and for every question i ask
ten more spring into being

but the answers remain in place
waiting to see the light of day

yet the light of day only reveals
itself to those who listen closely

to the questions that haunt us
and drag us deeper into madness