My poetry finally wins a prize

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Identity

What have I added to the litter of this city. A scrap paper of an identity or many such scraps, stained with the blood of mutilated self. Red mingling with black. Red smudging out the black of the, words, -straining to describe myself- were in an inchoate form, when that stab of desire slicing through the throbbing dullness spilled the lifeless blood, giving life, to the lifeless blood. Lifeless dreams trickled through the stupor of the sleepless night -a night alive because of living desires and a night dying because of dying dreams- into that culvert and past that dumpster, where,you will find a cache of my dreams and the remnants of my being.
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Traffic

Undecided, I stood on the edge of the pavement. Uninterrupted, fought the battle ,with, reason . Undisturbed, though,seemed the noise of traffic. Unclouded, were those beams of light,passing through me into oblivion. Undiluted, still was the bitter aftertaste of life. And unknown, the destination, I was headed for, when I stepped into the traffic.
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Loneliness

On this endless street of noise where silence and blood jostle thorugh, sweat and smoke mingle, debris of lost love still lingers. I am a "lot of noise" in my head, horns blaring and myself. A "lot of smoke" in my lungs I am, sooty anger and desperation. A lonely pariah he was. A silent spec on that street of noise. His peaceful sleep is what I stole and since then have stored it in the lonely alleys of my heart.
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