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Autotroph

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I am the lord
of broken things,
of birds that fly
but do not sing,
of bitterness, lingering,
of all the sorrows life can bring.

I am the master
of endless nights,
of windows and wishes
and too-cold knives,
of something like hope
and nothing like peace,
of all our lost extremities.

I am the queen
of wasted dreams,
of phones that ring
and empty streets
of ginger hair
and drawn-out waits,
of broken hearts
and stifled screams.

And since
I am the god
of shattered lives
I breathe a lie
I kiss a dream
and lose my sanity
far, far in between.



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