I Write Poetry

I am a pile of ember,
Pain with a heartbeat,
Ash with shallow breathing,
Light with anxiety,
Darkness with good intentions,
Emptiness with scars,
Nothingness with dreams,
A king with the crown of a fool,
From my shoulders
a web of tendon and sinew,
Hanging from them broken wings,
They drag in the dirt behind me like a shadow,
Whiskey bottles like
bread crumbs trail in my wake,
Fields of weeds and wildflowers
bloom from the rivers of tears, one for each star in the sky,
My blood drips upon pages,
crimson words read,
Emotions and feelings
drying on the paper,
Flecks of rose petals and nightshade still cling to my veins,
Epitaph poetry,
the potpourri of my soul.