sideways-saint

Spin cheap ash; Tears consumed in flat desperation. Liquor girl still believes the whisky listens on the inhale. Buy the smokes. Sit on the porch and listen to the city Collapsing beneath the fragile waves of humanity And all its fallacies. Moonlight -- A broken knife in the lungs -- Slouch. Tilt into it. Shove the tangerine streetlight, Unblinking, unknowing, Cringing against the fingernails on the chalkboard of the eyes of breaking hearts. Spit, unseen by strangers, Wondering at their life, as well as her own. Sleepwalking mess. Break the bottle, Flushing the brain out in the bathwater of thawed, Dirty snow. Telephone. Calm. She's stran

Butterfly, butterfly. Maybe I find you in that secret cigarette, cold and shivering on the winter porch, half hypothermic; breath-taking, smoke inhaling. Little, nasty secret. Exhale and I loathe myself a little more. Deep breath in. Out. A little more, Dark and vulnerable with my head in the music no one can hear but me. The music wanes. Wind chimes. I hear the night like a symphony of melancholy I wear upon my brow. My eyes look young, but I've seen much in these years, standing from my porch, keeping it in. Holding it in.

Oh, how your silence has opened my wounds, in those cursed places that nowhere tells. The empty, ragged edges of my chest cling to the hollow shadow of my frame. Dreams cannot cleave to where love is not yet found. My empty pillow waits, though I will not return, roaming lonely in this saltless void.