Some poet I am...

 Who's to know anyway?

The life I never chose to have: it has

the sweetest scent of brimming rapture; so

distant and untouched in its perfection; so

fascinating in its could’ve been-ess.

I sink my hungry teeth to taste

illusions fleshless and divine.

My beggar’s feast-I suck them dry

of juices; there will be no waste.

What heals a bleeding soul

of wounds invisible and scars transparent?

The body’s whole but heart’s devoured;

skin shivers from internal cold.

Desires too obscure to name,

too precious to be vocalized,

too fragile to be touched by eyes-

desires burning like a flame.

I am a martyr in that flame

though I have never been a saint

and with my pain I come to claim

the life I never chose to have.