A sharp knife
Aimed at nothing
But translucent skin
Staring deeply
At a shimmering mirror
Smeared lightly
By tiny photographs
And emerald squares
In the moonlight
A slight flinch
And unholy sounds
Of desperate cold screams

I said no to drugs once.
I looked a bag of **** right in the face
and, like a loving but firm father,
I said, "No."
I was really high.

I don't want to talk about the weather
I don't want to talk about how humid it was today, or how it rained some time last week
I want to talk about if you think the aliens are real
I want to talk about which type of flower reminds you of your mother
And I want to talk about what song from the last five years reminds you of summer
I want to talk about the pets you had growing up and their names and the marks on their coats
I want to talk about the first time you fell in love and what her smile looked like
Did she have crooked teeth?
Were her lips painted red the day you noticed you loved her?
I want to talk about what kind of toppings you like on your pizza
And I want to talk about how you like your coffee in the morning
Do you prefer more sugar, more cream?
Black coffee, or no coffee at all?
I want to talk about your stance on immigration laws or abortion or gun control
I want to talk about where you have most felt at home
Was it the basement at your mother's place, where you first got laid?
Or maybe it is the baseball field where you scored your first home run?
I want to talk about who you are when no one is looking, because that's when it counts the most
Do you always spare a dollar for the homeless man under the bridge at the intersection by work?
Do you hold the door open for old ladies with six bags in their arms and a coat full of cat hair?
I want to talk about everything and anything except the weather