A Poem a Day Keeps the Zoloft Away

That time I had three hundred dollars

worth of Crack

and a head full of superstitions,

yelling at mama as I walked

out the screen door of Louisiana backwoods

childhood,

I pawned the last piece of my

soul to the devil behind the

counter of Bayou Pawn,

buying a nothing I mistake for everything and

ultimately I am

spawning hatred for the next generation

as they look into my pocked face

lamenting a failure,

lamenting an excuse they can now use,

lamenting a life they will now live,

I have killed my children

simply by birthing them.

#302