Borrower

The last few times.

Every time I wrote I borrowed some love.

I stole some apples from someone else’s basket

I stole some crystals from someone else’s goblet

I sneaked like a thief and sipped on someone else’s fire

Now I am crumbling like a humiliated question mark

Sorry. I steal because I starve

I walk with watchful eyes from one pyre to another

And steal the flesh that falls from burning hearts

My vicarious children

Their rainbows and fishtanks

Something to keep me alive.

Some poem or

Someone else’s privilege for sanity

Someone else’s dreams

Some comforts…sleep and otherwise.