Autobiography

I must confess
that I am infatuated
with the idea of heartbreak.
And that I have always wanted
to light a cigarette for myself.
I have felt invincible and fragile in the same moment.


I must confess
that my fickle heart
and my loyal soul forever battle.
I long too often for the unnamed-
so much so, that when I leave,
I don't walk, I run.

I must confess
that the tragic holds
a significant allure for me
What I feel is not serenity with my being
We argue too much, this life and I
But we are searching, always searching.



And while I am at it,
I will also confess
that the brave things i say at night
never occur to me when the sun is out.
And in my proudest moments,
I don't say anything, I sing.