I am a torn soul.
My words the only definition of me.
To make a bad name around town,
Is what I am and have created.
Just roadblocks of connection I put up in my poetic nights wake.
I want to be more than an indifferent chuckle.
Infinite in riddles, strife, blood, turmoil, and lust,
I have no recollection of the collective.
I am a lost resemblance of a childlike wonder of dusty books I read and set aside for myself.
I created and inhabit this peacefully chaotic island of poetic retreat.