she knows my name.
she follows me from street to street.
her lipstick traces stain pillow cases,
and yet she, relentlessly places my face
upon gravel, and broken glass made of words and deeds.
while bleeding i find friends vanish as ghosts
and the corpse of loves past turn up missing.
it is not the success that measures the worth of a man,
but how and if he learns from his failure that set him