red

(first post in an “old poetry/new picture” theme)

how much time is too much
to lose, to throw away
to warm my hands
at an uncertain fire
when i cant begin
to end the question of

how
i feel
        i know my heart well
enough
to fear to speak
i am stranger enough
to wonder should i fear
unaware
she moves through me
as she moves by
i feign disinterest
trembling addicted
without the touch
of needle or flesh

  close friends are earnest, inane
  im quizzed about
  why
  they dont see my confusion
  when i splash it in their eyes
inside
full of a dope fiend's
hitless tremor
a martyr
to the status quo
i beat these walls
until blood flows

while my thoughts are free
my hands are fists