Sometimes, life – indelibly, can

stab its tattoos into me, then

drowning in the undertow, I

see my life on video. I

search for love and happiness but

where it hides I only guess, you

may have seen Epiphany, yet

love, it seems, is not for me. So

save your rites for cemeteries where

flowers put your mind at ease, but

don’t be such a crocodile, I

see right through that hollow smile. You

move your lips and say your prayers, yet

in your room you write: Who Cares? In

this week’s secret diary you

write of lips so fiery, and

longing for the one true kiss that

lifts your soul to heaven’s bliss, I

hate myself for reading. Shit! No

longer am I part of it! So

please don’t ring or text or stuff, I

do believe I’ve had enough. Don’t

ask what could the matter be...look

down – that spattered stain was ME.