There is no shame in asking for help.

When busking in Central Park, a failed writer was high on heroin and asked me for a poem about ‘flattery’ but left before I could finish. While he was there, he was intentionally distracting me. He sang "Strawberry Fields" by The Beatles. He described the cool alleviation of putting a needle in your arm. That a pen would never come close. He was a violent and aggressive reflection of the worst version of myself. I feel as though the experience made me a better writer.

Butter me up

Nice and fat

Destructive.

Retract. Refile. Repeat.

I find myself in strawberry fields

Rolling with Lennon

In a glimmer

Elastic and eclectic.

Butter me up

Nice and fat

The fire below my feet

Condensation upon the soul

Butter me up.

I stay

And go away

Lost in a sentence

Lost in my sentence

Butter me up

Nice and fat.

I am delightful

I am damned

I am damaged

Butter me up

Nice and fat.

I am destructive.

I will destroy you

It is my nature

Butter me up

Nice and fat

Give me all the fucking lies

Tell me I am handsome

Beautiful and wise

Butter me up

Please, I beg you

I can’t look at myself anymore

Not with these painfully honest eyes