Still, your sweet eyes swell with salty seeds of shame.
Reach within my heart and rip apart the fibers.
Until your cold fingers grasp a piece of truth.
Hey, You. Out there in your head, Getting lonely in your stead. Can you hear me? Hey, you. Against the quiet room, Writing stories as
The stillness of her soul follows me, brings with it a newfound religion.
I’m from the father who poured his soul in the plaster
and pulverized his bones into the concrete of the steps and dripped his sweat and tears into every soup, every mixed drink, every daily special on his menu. Until he had become one with it. And would be forever lost without it.
You are my HIV, my perfect disease.
My eventual downfall, the perpetual hum that slowly diffuses sweet poison into every scene we star in.