Evasion is a sweet pastime.

I can't seem to want to go to sleep right now. It's nearing midnight, and I'm tired, and I'm a little hungry. But all I'm doing is writing. I've decided I don't like posting stuff on my poetry blog for the time being, so I'm just going to post this poem here. I just copied it from my notebook, and edited it a bit, and found I like it more than I thought. So, read on, if you wish.

My Heart's Exposé
I set to writing down my heart
And all the fact surrounding it
With a view to polishing
My shiny, lead-stained fingertips
In the crystal universe encrusted
With the film of Fortune’s kiss.

But a latte in the morning kills my spirit,
And a pinch of salt across the shoulder
(When I drop the lid and spill the can)
Is the only luck I can account for.

Sweet nothingness now holds me
In its stern and pitying grasp.
And all can see that, in my words,
All can tell within my thoughts.

You wrapped my heart in foil – pressed and
Boiled, poker-faced, until it was lobster-red,
Scrapped for the piglets in the yard:
(You glorified the meal) I was
“A wealthy feast for the health of swine.”
Is this what you had tried to say?

Worth nothing more than a rotten feast
Nothing more than slaughter food
Trampled to lumpy, dull red mush
With nothing more to beat for.