I have a plan
If I can get it to stick
Keep missing
My own target

Maybe God’s middleman
I feel a lunatic
Roaming without land
In a panic

I give a damn
Lost without yardstick
Devil where lie began
Evil is arithmetic

I have eyes to scan
The earth they turn to scarlet
Dividing when they can
Label me a harlot

© Delia Ross. 2022 / @poeeternal

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Should I start over under a hidden identity with my face and tattoos never shown? And my opinion never disclosed? It seems I would have better odds if my mouth were closed.

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John, what are you doing down there?

“I thought I was somewhere else on the map”

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It’s November. John died in November. I’m grateful I can remember he was murdered.

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