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