The Verdict
self doubt
Ugly pain
dripping from my heart
like semen
running down the leg of some
sore—ridden crack whore
standing on this corner
of indecision and self doubt
hawking my wares
to the un—wanting
selling my soul
to the un—buying
crying out for the next fix
while eyes search for the next trick
i exhaust the last trace
of my idealism
i give away the last
of my innocense
and still...
here I stand...
awaiting the verdict
(2003)
this is my feelings about writing poetry, not a very pretty analogy but it seemed to fit at the time
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