Her hands are made of sandpaper, and her eyes they look like fear;
And the fragility of her porcelain heart is a sign that death is near.

The demons in the form of thought pick apart her empty mind.
They leave her on the roadside, where she is left, deaf, dumb and blind.

Screaming for redemption from her swollen, dry, cracked lips;
In an act of desperation, she starts to sway her paper hips.

With only one thing left to give, she has nothing left to lose;
She raffles off her body for feeble cash and sketchy *****.

And the wrinkles on her face are tiny riverbeds for tears;
Urban camouflage of leather skin and dried up makeup smears.

Pretty sure
I drank too much
At your funeral.
Snowflakes were
Falling softly
On your coffin.

Watched them
Etch your death
In roman numeral.
I etch them
Into my thighs
Too often.

With my
Whiskey breath
I learn to soften.
I sink with you.
6 feet deep,
Yet unforgotten.

your
rough fingers
linger
below
my trembling
lips

like a wasp
with a stinger
sends a
zinger
to my
hips

i want
to be
your
last
first kiss

I’m aware of the pain
of the worry
and the rain
I’m aware that the moon will wane