Mad Melee Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

This is the exact,
Point blank range
Where I fight best
Where I am laced
To my own soul
As I lavishly tell
You about how
Horrible it is
To have something
To write about -

I do not enjoy
These literary
Deaths but
I still do -
A part of my
Soul cringes,
And the Earth
Clenches to
Keep me sane
But what of
It when you’ve
Got a whole
Ocean of strangers
Bothering you
In your sleep?

I am huddled
By these gruff
People made
Of metal alloys
And snow -
I wish to be
Obscured.
I make a
Mad clangor
Whenever
I bump
The frigid walls
And a piece
Of me flails
When I madly
Collide with
The stupor
Of the wind.

It’s as if
I battle the
World alone
With this
Loneliness
That metamorphs
Into a whole
Sonata
Or a moribund
Solace.

Yes, this too
Is the point blank
Range where
I come face to face
With death’s breath
Caressing my face -
I guess I don’t
Fight that good.
I die more
Than I actually
Live.