I scraped the skin from the mannequin I made of myself.
Beginning to graft it back onto my slippery insides.
Numb and dry,
While everyone politely admired my outsides,
carefully poised behind the glass of my storefront window.
Reaaranged and redisplayed to fit the scene and season.
But I dumped my bucket of innards on my crusty bones and as my skin grabs hold-
It hurts like a sonuvabitch.
Have I died?!
And if I've died, who is this frankenstein rising up from inside?
Will she be kind to me?
Will she wash the matted dirt from my hair, and kiss the smelly flesh of the hands that put me back together?
Will she tell me goodmorning, and tuck me in safe at night?
Will she listen to my heartache when it's 3 AM and the rest of the world is in deep slumber, unaware of the pain of the observer?
Will she love me better than the one before?
Together we've cross stitched a body that looks like a girl we used to know-
So tender and red with a long way to go.
Her hand is left, my hand is right-
We grab tight,
fall to our knees,
and thank the GOD WITHIN
for bringing us back to life.

I’ve hung around too many open bars,
Took a pre game a little too far-
Looking for one more shot.
A shot through my own foot.  
Shot to pieces- shocked.
Tell me, is it a shot in the dark,
to ask for your heart,
one more time?
All the shots I’ve shot before cinged my insides,
Leaving me warm,
For a time.
But when I drink you in,
I burn in all the ways I searched for at the bottom of the bottle.
I’m sorry I forgot,
loves a long shot,
Not,
For the short sighted.
No quick fix,
But I’d rather shoot the ****,
Than shoot the shot that landed me here in the first place.
With a birds eye view,
I’d rather be at home with you.
But a birds eye shot has filleted my insides,
Openly sifting for all the things I despise,
about myself,
to excavate and place on display as a target on my back,
And I’m asking you to take the long shot,
Across the chasm I created.
All I’m looking for,
Is one more shot.