I Am Termites, I Am Wood

There is no sleeping now.

There is a thing

called a self-destructor.

I am one.

I am a big one.

I will spend all night

in the sand,

looking at my hands.

Thinking

I should have put them

on my mouth

before my voice

sent things

heading south.

Freud

and death-drives,

have they chased me

my entire life?

I want…

I want…

I want…

but I stop myself

and I kill my health.

And I don’t want wealth.

I wish I was kelp.

I could drift,

I could drink,

I would not sink.

Self-sabotage

is my skill.

It stands large.

If you tell me to fold,

I will.

I know

where peace is,

peace just doesn’t want

any of my business.

 

I am sorry for me.

I am sorry to you.

 

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