They say that poetry
Holds an inner
Fire.

Well, if you're reading this
I hope your hands
Are scalded
Beyond recognition

Don't you think
It's
Crazy

That I want to be a singer
And an actor
And a painter
And a writer
And a race car driver
And president

But I can't even be happy
With my sexuality

And it's not my fault
But yours?

I'm not afraid
Not now
Not ever
Yet

She's not a cowboy
So I can't call her my partner
But what can I call her
When all we feel like
Is machines

Twisted gears and mangled fears
Push up on us faded years
And hopefully there'll be no tears
When the truth breaks out
For a final
Last
Hurrah

I drown,
In the depths of your eyes
I should feel shame
But to say it is a lie
I'm lost in your touch,
The smell of your skin
With you,
Hell is worth our sin
To taste your lips,
Breathe your breath
I would die
A thousand deaths
I will stand at Hells gates
And smile passing through
Just to know
I'll burn with you