i miss the silence
of your empty
hand

you drive
your face breathing
a white
light into the dark

the snow
falling like ash
on the road

The surgeon asked if I could feel my toes
And for the first time...
*I was afraid to die

This was not love making.
This was sin
and the devil victoriously
danced between the sheets.

I remember you once told me,
Right after I had dyed my hair blonde,
That you liked me better as a brunette.
I don't know why I'm thinking about that now.

I can get drinks for free,
I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue,
I can ****** without touching any part of my body,
I can destroy lives and break hearts.


But one time you told me that you like me better as a brunette.

My floral dress,
The pink and grey one with the collar,
Is hanging from the clothes line.

Your ***** martini,
Shaken not stirred,
Is creating a ring on the coffee table.

I was expecting
*** on a bearskin rug in front of the fireplace
Kind off magic.

But you're late again.
Imagery doesn't matter when you're this ****** up.

My stomach is so tight
If there were any butterflies in there,
They're probably dead now.

The room is spinning
Spinning and bobbing and weaving,
Weaving webs and stories and lies.

Don't threaten me.

I hope he's wearing protection
As he ***** you over.

Hypocrites,
Loud trucks backfiring,
And poor choices.
I thought by the time you hit this age,
You would have ended your rebellious teen stage.
But I guess it's a permanent personality trait.

I feel so domestic.
I'm honestly craving that 40s housewife life.
Cooking and cleaning all day,
Modest lipstick and pincurls.
Constantly barefoot and pregnant,
Floral dresses and pearls.