(still trying to pen you into existence)

slowly, we dance
a lighter in my hands
i don't smoke
empires, reduced to stones
bludgeoning the dreams we spoke
in the last rays of roan
sliding our fingers to the ribbons
tied to our throats

convicted serenity, falsified.

always the artist
hidden behind her canvas
never the muse
with a languid smile
always the composer
forever lost in false reverie
never the music
a song, a symphony
always easy to like
just for a while
never worth my price
in the transaction of respite
always the sacrifice
on the altar of lies
never the worshipped
devoted only to my light

now i'm from Georgia
never far from a mountainside
scent of earthen greed
down where hills do fly
but buried 'neath those hills
is a hate that runs deep
where preachers lie
for a false god, on their knees

now i'm from Georgia
land kissed by sea
fortune for the rich
and bloodlust for the freed
because the fog and the apathy
can be heard when they sing
liars, all of them
when they decree:
let freedom ring.

now im from Georgia.

god, i feel so unpretty
out of everyone's league
twenty-thousand pressing on top of me.

perhaps they are all too intimidated
by the siren who sinks, ill-fated
cursed by fatal beauty that leaves them fixated.

yet none brave the dive
seeing what may reside
in the depths of the briny tide
of my soul.

you would be drowning
in an ocean of my love.
and i would drag you under
to hold you close
while you choke on your own regret.

you lick your lips, hunger settling in
say a prayer before your meal of sin
crude sentiments whispered like a hymn

(and so)   feverish flesh lie flat on a platter
         though i hardly get a say in the matter
       on how and when i am to be devoured

(and yet)              i give and feed
                        the male ego, preening
                 at the sound of forced satisfaction

(all the while)     black beetle eyes roam
                          i close my own, pretending
                  that you gaze upon my heated flesh
affectionately.