We could love like
Johnny and June
if I could just walk
the ******* line.

We could love like
Bonnie and Clyde
if I could just rob
a bank with a smile.

We could love like
Romeo and Juliet
if I could just ****
myself with a vial.

We could love like
Edward and Bella
if I could just live
forever and still care.

We could love like
Samson and Delilah
if I could just pull
the columns down.

We could love like
Zooey and Ben
if I could just write
a song that showed you.

So, when you find
the girl downtown
with the smile of a
saint and the weight
of sin on her shoulders,
look her in the eyes
and nod. She understands.
She understands.

She'll look you
right back, never
glancing away and smile
the smile of a saint,
she's asking for help,
but isn't really sure how,
like a child in school. So,
just look her in the eyes
and nod.

You could offer your
hand to her, but she
won't take it, she refuses
to be a burden, like a martyr,
she only wants to help.
So just look
her
in the eyes
and
smile, because she understands
she
understands.

Don't you know that
I would have died for you
like a nameless martyr
on a cross, blood trickling
down my brow like the sweat
you used to induce.

Don't you know that
I would have lived my life
just for you, living on, just like
you told me to, never calling
your name, never bringing you
back.

Don't you know that
I would have killed for
you like so many starcross'd
lovers, needing only you
to survive. The antidote
to the poison beating
through my heart.

We beat the paths that
are laid before us with
machetes and gunfire
Loving violently, loving
violence like Roman citizens
at a colosseum.Cringing
heroically at dismemberment
and pain.
And we're all just the same.

I wanna breathe in smoke
and exhale brimstone.
I wanna rage against the
fallacies of the world and
chew on shattered glass.
I want to make life meanigful
and true, like so many novels
and short stories.
But it's like searching for
answers in something completely
mundane and pointless like
smiles in a grocery store.

And you always know just what
to say to keep me on the edge
of my seat, biting my nails
in anticipation and rage.

Passing the ball back and forth,
playing the game, we've
obviously grown out of.

And I'm miserable, merciless
and alone, you're miserable,
hopeful, and alone.

This is my letter to you,
rash and unproofread
like bouts of teenage
poetry and angst.
Unconcentrated disgust
and rage that bleeds through
the pages like ink from a
well and blood through a
bandage, that crimson
that you wrapped around
your body in the form of a
slinky little dress that matched
the carpet in my apartment
perfectly.

You tasted like wine and adventure
with a tint of regret and poise
that you tried to hide behind
slang and lipstick, but I'm sorry
Darling, you can't play the game
like I can, and you won't last,
so fold your ******* hand
and cash in your chips,
you won't need them where
you're going.

Your breath on my neck
and you're seeing stars,
but you can't play the game
like I can, and my foot is
already out the ******* door.

But, this is my letter to you
written on the embroidered
napkins on the nightstand
in the hotel room where you
sold your soul for cheap wine
and a good ******* time.
You can't play the game like
I can, and you're just
scribbled on a hotel napkin.