March 15

 Sticks and stones will break your bones but love will kill you quicker
 
 The fire’s leaving from my eyes though I don’t feel much sicker.
 
 It’s not the fire in my veins that keeps me up at night,
 
 but guilt that my life was just a bomb, when I once thought I held light.
 
 I clear the ground and plow the field and sow that sacred seed,
 
 But what I thought would be a rose, was just a thorny weed.
 
 Clawing. Scratching. Ragged gasps as I’m dragged down to Hell
 
 But I won’t go easy, without a fight, fight with every fucking cell.
  
  Tasting bile as I awake spit hangs from my mouth,
   
  The cruel joke of no Sex-Ed here in the Deep South.
   
  Poisoned meds, exam room beds the carousel goes round
  
 Still not sure which place is worse, this life or in the ground. 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4m2i0c/sag/d3sbyqy

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4lj307/sevensixfive/d3sc4jd