This obsession to bleed
imagine and dither, in lines
that insist upon endless cycles
of addiction,
seeking answers to questions,
I fail to possess,
the eloquence
of understanding, to ask.
I seek to escape this love
that laughs behind my back,
that comes and then goes,
that shows me a crack,
where the light splits a colon
and my very next w o r d
is my last.