I've just run out
of "Benefits of the Doubt"s.

Tears leave
burns
that strike
like lightning
in This Dark.

Oh, I just don't know where to go.
When your oceans are full of salt water
and salt water reigns in my tear-ducts,
I'm stuck:
I'm sorry I've stopped coming over.
But the swings on the swing set in your backyard don't carry me away to the wind
     like they used to.
And I know you drive in the shadows
so the Police can't ever see you,
But I'm tired of that too.
I want them to find me,
so that I can lick the columns of prison bars,
and see what being stuck really feels like.

Your head looks beautiful when encircled
in a wreath of ****
smoke billowing from your lips.

Do the stars shine brighter up there?
I wonder
sometimes
if they do.
Or if loneliness is
the only presence
you are greeted with
when lighting up.

Your eyes don't shine
like they usually do
when the flame of a lighter
is reflected within them.

Remember love flies,
like moths do, towards the light
and, in the end,
dies
just the same.

I think you know what it's like to taste love
on the end of your tongue
like the lingering bitter-sweetness of soft metal.

I think you're older than the number given to you by your age
and heaven's angels have not spared you,
like they sometimes do,
from the acid tears of sorrow the world cries down at night.

I think you love the sun like it will never die
and that you trust that beauty comes in sleepless nights.
You run from friends in life,
yet you trust that that's what it's all about.

I know you're a mess,
and charcoal eyeliner traces the tracks of tears better than lying about
          fake incidents.
Please let someone hold you this time around.
It's only ever lonely if you find your feet on solid ground,
and the sins of the wind are the only ones to share the stability with.