Poem-A-Day: Day 455

Perfect Stranger

Hell,
I gave up for good.
I'd learned by now
a perfect stranger
would know more
for kidding the way it should be.
I should grow up
to the same space
that I talked myself into.
A corner,
you're no friend of mine,
false and indestructible.
I'd rather go twenty rounds
for killing myself the way it should be.
I should feel confined,
or I feel that I talked myself
above me control:
a sensation sweet so bad.