Holding our aspirations close and
stitching our tragedies into the fabric flesh of soul.
Blue-eyed babes stroke blank faces of loveless men
and run against the wind that breathes our names into the soil of coincidence.
I have known and loved you for the ink you apply to page
in my name, recording thoughts of a girl from a different time.
But your contemplations consumed you in a fiery mass of calamity,
eaten alive by your own beast, a creation of your broken and brilliant mind,
pausing only for a moment to consider the petite faces staring from the car window.
Perhaps this is how we have been altered from one another.
You, an ill-fated child of nine pining over the corpse of daddy
and vowing to return through a hole under the floorboards,
was consumed by her own madness.
I, a subtle extravagance flashed blue eyes at unassuming boys in denial of my age,
a freckled face desperate to be valued at the highest price.
We catastrophic creatures lead double lives of normalcy and senselessness,
when will the cease-fire be called above thick black smoke of souls at war?
Because it is bound to overwhelm, beckoning us to the sweet fumes
of domestic poison, yelling last call above the roaring crowd inside our heads
that pulls at our minds for a cut of the profit.
But perhaps dear, this is where I leave you. At the precipice of the end,
overlooking a black gorge of all your desires and delusions.
I must let go of your hand and cover the path that led us here so as
not to tempt fragility embedded within the creases in my brain.
Goodbye my lovely
you have fallen behind, the ropes of insanity
wrapping themselves tight around your sweet ankles.
A ghostly martyr whose words thump with the life of blood through veins
and whose deftly maneuvered fingers grasp at jaded minds to vicariously
live through that which you could never stand to bear.
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