I Live As A Shadow
Cut I do, not the sides of paper.
Nor do I attempt the use of
I cut needles into my veins.
I smack my tears below my eyes.
I taste every single hurtful cry.
I walk among the dead.
They are alive with death.
I live as a shadow.
I live inside death as my shade.
I see the tree hanging with a rope.
You only want to feel loved.
I scream but not to the clouds above.
My shouts are meant for me.
My curse is nailed to my cross.
Hammered by the stone I use as a coffin.
I listen to witches whistle.
I wish for the witch which witch.
I am cloned by my shadow.
I walk backwards in her flaming footprints.
Grey blood bleeds while I paint the portrait.
The picture displays a window.
I stare into a broken mirror.
My face is cracked.
I have cracks in my face.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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