I
Once I bled
My soul like ink
On paper dripping
From veins blue.

Now I write the soul
That sings softly
Humming and going
About the day.

II
Damn dichotomy
Of death, divorce
Depression, harsh
On my palate. D
Like k for kill, I shudder.

My southern voice
And soul is more
Satisfied with flesh
And skin and
Seductive soliliqy.
It flies with color.

III
Each day fair ready to burst.
My chest, my breast
Can only hold it so long without
The need to articulate.
I’m going to say it soon.

IV
I fought for no other,
Do not fight for you.
I will fight for me,
My happiness that in
Your eyes I see and
That gorgeous girl
Staring back.

V
In the circumstance,
Things are still fifty-fifty.
I am a realist.