Over seven thousand days of putting pen to page

Started writing around nine

Poetry, my shame

For years I tried to hide

I found Baudelaire at twelve

Silent friend of a silent creature

Silver mirror in that hell

Obscured by shadow

Saw my reflection in the eyes

Indifference, anger, lust, avarice

Each cresting like waves, then placid for a while

Moments holding to the quiet

Reflecting on the beauty of the chaos and the violence

More years dwelling in perpetual dusk

Undone

Silhouette I’ve become