I am toxic.

Everything I touch I kill,

and not in a poetic murder 

kind of death.

I slaughter the hopes,

rape the dreams,

strangle the heart,

poison the soul.

And when I stand back 

to appreciate my work,

I practice suicide

because none of this

was premeditated

and I can't live

knowing that I was capable

of this cruel 

work of art,

where I destroy 

the very muse

that inspired me.