What It Is To Be Human.

In my weakest hour
I am human.
I take
what I want
I burn
what I need
I deconstruct
my own body
because I can
because I am human
because I have
an exceptionally
dark heart.
And in my weakest hour
I am not burdened
by my heart
or the marks
it leaves
in my wake.
I am served well
by the snarling chains
of my own
existentiality.

Hunted.

In my head my thoughts
are like helpless rabbits
hunted by the red fox--
frozen like cinder blocks,
my fear--
I cannot command it.