I am often asked why my poetry is so dark,
usually by people who do not know me.
I live with myself twenty four hours a day
with no time off for good behavior
except when I sleep, which is seldom.
my muse is Charles Bukowski
the great poet of darkness and cynicism.
I am from Buffalo, “Have you ever visited Buffalo?”
happiness is seeing Buffalo in the rearview mirror
and having no memory of your childhood there.
like most children, I had an imaginary friend,
but he committed suicide after  finding out I was real.
I wrote a cheerful poem once, but that was when I was four;
a deluded child who thought Santa Claus was real,
world peace would come and the United States had justice for all.
I then had a series of relationships with women
who had delusions of adequacy until I set them straight.   
actually, we were very happy- but then we met.                 
I do take solace in my gallows humor that most people
take seriously, like you did while reading this poem.