Let's freeze frame as my mind fades
And analyze its degradation
From all the toxic inhalation
Playback the moments that are missing
And wonder what pieces used to
fit there
This jigsaw is at expert level
And I am puzzled through this puzzle
Where my jagged edges don't quite settle
In your cookie-cutter heart.
Where the picture on the box is one that's hazy and misled
From a culmination of empty faces that have
Led its shape astray;
A concrete structure
That's now laden with decay
In the aftermath of games that were
Too far gone to play.

The days are long so pray the weeks fly by,
For the endless traveler with the anxious mind.
Where fruition seems to be so far, so fleeting,
And no amount of heat can ignite this healing.
The fireflies are alive tonight,
A reminder of the spark that I don't feel inside,
Where bated breaths are met with an empty touch,
And whispered words are said so easily,
That they don't mean enough.
Or anything at all.
Or anything at all.  
This charade to me is far too easy,
No fight, no battle, no effort needed,
Just pleasantries and a sly tongue,
I've built you up to become undone.
Parade your flesh, unwrapped, uncovered,
With eyes so telling, there is nothing left to discover.
I will hide the boredom with experienced poise,
And wrap you up to fill the void,
Within my chest, that beats at best,
For that which doesn't mean much,
Or anything at all.
Or anything at all.

So let's add another numbed night to this comatose plight.
Searching for something meaningful at the bottom of bottles,
And striving for amnesia through entangling bodies.
This is the dance of the dead.
A decadent display of flesh and famine.
A hunger so primal that we've lost our appetite for
The more filling of feelings.
You're tugging at my heart strings,
But she's ripping off my clothes.
And the opposite embodied is a worse torture than most
Would care to know.
But I do have a thing for pain,
And you're the object of my infliction.
In this scar making moment, I'll succumb to that addiction.
But your mark is growing thin, love.
And the evidence will fade.
Your territory’s waning and you have no stake to claim.
These are the lies we lead in this life or something like it.
Barely scraping by until the day turns to night.
My calendar is filling and yours is bound to burst.
You can pencil me in if you're bored enough.
I'll accept through the hangover and give you sleepy eyes,
Knowing full well we'll both end up in another's bed tonight.
She'll touch my chest though it does not heave for her.
And I'll take a shot to make this feeling better.
She'll want to spoon but I'll push her to "your side".
And I'll say I'll call tomorrow, but when I speak, I tend to lie.
I'm taking up your offer on this latest lifestyle,
Where cowardly nonchalance is the most fitting attire,
And the heart that's been hemmed to my sleeve,
Is the most out-of-date accessory.
This game is treacherous, this game called "love".
My only wonder is: when we will stop playing ourselves.