thief

my compulsions compel me

though i lie, cheat and steal of my own will 

my thieving hands are guided by an act of God

or some higher power that I cannot control

little things i never needed

find their way between my fingertips

where i relocate them into my possession

picked and praised by my obsession

they won't be missed 

perhaps I am saving them

from dust and neglect

with me they are worshiped and better kept

maybe i want what I can't have 

the elusive control of loss

i can't thieve from convenient stores

or ripped tags in shopping malls

something was stolen from me

a brother whose blood i shared

perhaps in my grief i reach for him

desperately thieving for a breath of fresh air

though i am left suffocating with guilt

in a pile of pointless things 

my hands dripping in red

waiting to be caught and punished again