These ribs have been charred black with soot from the combustion of this burning heart – a fire fed by the very act of drawing breath. I am consumed by this world, and in tandem, tumultuous form I am become of it.


You might think this is yours
when, in fact, it is mine.
It cannot be taken from me,
nor, really, can it be given.
Even if I had wanted to give it.

What is it?
It is me.


When will you learn that it’s possible
to put too much faith in your struggle?

What happened, that made pain the only thing
that the lungs of your soul recognize as air?

You can swim all day against the current
and still find yourself no closer to shore.