You were my best tire and I blew it.

"I'll take a bullet for you, just not from you."

haunting frights slur,
convincing a tired,
throbbing spine to
stumble away from
memories lost in
the unforgiving happy
hours of continuous,
cheap brown lager.

young, blonde pigtails
tap weary broad shoulders
and mumble under
bubble-gum breath:
“strong bones won’t
do a corpse
any **** good.”

poetry,
she had known,
was love no one could ever
take away from her
and she fancied that,
in her new solitude,
she had piece of mind
among the few words
which kept her feeling human.

after you left,
anxiety attacks threw my body
into a fitful quake- a tremble
my bed couldn't suppress.

and to ease my aching mind
about your absence from
within familiar walls,  
I splattered blood, red crimson
chemicals on bitten nails.

they shimmer, yet
there's still nothing
beautiful about this
painted lady.

when your cold
fingers get the
chance, let their
haunting abilities
of ink dance
across the fine
white of paper
and choreograph
what it's like
to dance in
the vast nothingness
of an inevitability
you were too
curious to prolong.