Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry…
That’s what it’s like for me when things are going well.
When the veil between me and the fire of my self is thin.
Poetry, then, is more satisfying than food; more life-giving than rain.
The boundaries of my skull contain all that I require.
I need not fear boredom, or loneliness, or abandonment.
And when the veil is very, very thin–I need not even fear dying.
I want more days like that.
I want to remember the truth about how much I want that.