With age comes wisdom,
      Yet so many die,
         Before their time,
            By their hand,
A society that measures them
     By the quantity of their success
          Not the quality of their being
We notice decay and adore youth
      Clothes are skin thick and needle deep
            Human life is cheap
               To be used
                  Discarded
Like so many cans of soda
      Drained to the last drop
          Whatever remains
             Dries out in the summer
                     Freezes over in the winter
And they wonder why we are cold
        Why we are heartless
               Why we use
                                                       You taught us this.
The young
   The beautiful
        Whoever said we have it easy
               Should have been hung by his toes
         And left for the crows
     Maybe if they took his eyes
He would know a fraction of our pain

E'en in a city that doesn't sleep,
The moon fools us lovers with promise of dreams,
With promise of light and touch and caress,
one kiss stolen in moonlight,
one hushed bated breath.

The crystal siren may have robbed us of our tears,
but she can never steal those that music brings to our eyes,
those that a broken heart tears from our soul,
those that a kiss goodbye wrenches from our hearts.

It would be so easy to fall back,
On to the train tracks,
On to a habit,
On to my needle,
Into your arms,
Into a dream,
Into your heart,
Such love and grace,
From fallen angels as we.

The moon fools us lovers
With promise of dreams
E'en when those dreams
Come apart at their seams

So many offers,
So many looking,
To get away,
To give love,
To lose pain,
No wonder we run away,
No wonder we try to fly.

The moon fools us lovers,
Knowing I am the king of fools.

Give me your tired,
Give me their dreams to crush for my bread
Give me  your poor
let me drain their life's blood
give me Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
And I will give them eternal sleep
Smothered against my *****,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
I will allow to crumble to dust.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door
and set fire to their bones.

The sharp stab through the hip
the shimmers that blind me
that only I can see
a curse
the “burn”
each whispered word
whether done through the veil of morphine
or the sharp crisp 1048 dpi view
that a mere migraine gives
everything I do is laced with pain
it defines my going out
my coming in.
it defines my every move
Some deformed Alexander technique
that worsens every day
that makes me who I am
that moulds me.
I live with pain
And pain is mine.