Am I Broken?
When told that
I’m so handsome—
I assume that it’s my
heart you want
to collect as your ransom.
It’s my countenance, not
my mind—
that they all
seem to seek.
I’ll notice your soul long
before your body. I’m a different
kind of blind.
I can’t help it; I fancy the fall.
I’ve fallen for the meretricious—
so beautiful, so bleak.
I’ve been bonded by trauma,
and I’ve been fractured by
trust.
I crave the love of legends
until we rot or become dust…