I dripped blood on my notebook,

as a Sacrifice, blood of my womb

to birth a poem

Fair trade

I’m beginning to doubt if my womb

will shed anything but blood

I live in a perpetual state of loneliness

I’m not certain what it would be like

to care for someone else

I’m content in my selfishness

cozy in my solitude

My mind keeps me company

Helps to wile away the hours and

my  hands are my lovers,

they know me well

serve me well