I feel the caress of my own fingers
on my own neck as I place my collar
and think pityingly
of the kind women I have known.

I sketched a faceless man today
I put more details in his hands than I ever could in his eyes

I drew a faceless woman today
forward facing
I put more details on the muscles of her back
than I ever could her nose

I painted a faceless child today
I put more details on his body
than I ever could his lips

I painted faceless beings today
all hollowed out alone
my art teacher looked at me like i was a little disturbed
I could not explain to him that the hollow of her cheekbone
will have more meaning
than the color of her eyes
or the voluptuousness of her lips
and that the strain in her shoulders
will show
and that man will have more meaning in the creases
of his palms
than I could ever put on the lines of his face
And all I could think of was
How that faceless woman had a **** good
***

You look for meaning where there is none
in the crook of my collarbone or curve of my spine
or ribs you love to trace with your fingers
as if you could tuck your delicacy between the spaces intertwined by
nerve and muscle
As I breathe
you think your touch is all powerful
a healer
You look for beauty where there is none
in the curve of a smile
that rarely dances across my lips
as  if you could catch a fleeting glance and frame it somewhere behind your eyes
all you see is gold
fool's gold
brutally unaware that every-time you kiss the place below my neck
its as though you cut my throat open listening for the sound of a song I wouldn't sing
looking for words I wouldn't say
and they pour out of me
like the sweat from your pores,
in your need
You forget to be disappointed, when all you hear
is the sound of my gurgling
choking
on all the things that threaten to rush back to the surface
Now your eyes have a tint of orange coloured bitterness to them
The promise of something sweet
that only sounds sour
Your voice holds a note of deception
your touch doesn't dance as delicately across my skin
I no longer make my tongue move to the rhythm of your lies
As if I could taste the words at the back of your throat
Worst of all
I think I like you better this way.

I stood stoic as they reeled your cold body in
It was only when I saw that your hair was still wet from your last shower
that I broke down
The coroner said he couldn't get your eyes to close
I said neither could I
Not even when we kissed
The ligature marks around your neck looked
like patterns that danced across your grandmothers hall
as we lay there arm in arm
Your laughter echoed off the walls
you told me how you wanted to be so small
and stare at the ceiling all day
that when you were a child you would fall asleep under your bed look at the marks the wood made
how if you stared long enough
some marks were even faces
or partial eyes
you said that you would never give up on me
well where the **** are you now?
Those covers echoed with the reality of our secrets
weighed down by our burdens
so take your knotted rope
for even in death
you look choked
here we are the same old story
me arguing with the dead
but we both know you visit me
in my dreams with open eyes you never get to sleep any-more
or breathe

I was angry at your blue body
for staring at me open eyed
with the same eyes that told me there was
magic
in life
You are a lie.
such a ******* lie.