desert of my mind

Don’t feel sorry for me.

I am sorrier for the others

than for my mistakes.

I used to think that

my goal in life was to make

you pay attention.

I tried to feed my ego

with your recognition,

when my soul was the essential.

And all it needed was love

     - not yours, but hers.

I don't think I could ever kill a person.

Nor an animal.

I read too many books,

I don’t drink enough water,

I can’t write poetry anymore.

Sometimes I think

“one day will be the last”

but then I remember that even Rilke died.

I am a small particle in this world, yet not small enough – not empty enough to go unnoticed.